FLORENCE-AND 
IRVIN-5HUPPJR 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

IRVINE 

GIFT  OF 
Mr.    &  Mrs.    Kenneth  R.    Shupp 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 


The  Maid  of  Honor 


BY 
RICHARD  S.  HOLMES 


NEW  YORK  CHICAGO  TORONTO 

Fleming  H.   Revell  Company 


LONDON 


AND 


EDINBURGH 


Copyright,  1907,  by 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


/ 


///• 

/v^ 


SECOND  EDITION 


New  York  :  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago :  80  Wabash  Avenue 
Toronto  :  25  Richmond  St.,  W. 
London  :  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh  :  100  Princes  Street 


CONTENTS 

I.  A  WEDDING  AT  ST.  DAVID'S    ....          7 

II.  I  MAKE  AN  ACQUAINTANCE         ....        22 

III.  A  LETTER  FROM  NEW  ORLEANS  .          .          -35 

IV.  A  HOPELESS  CASE     ......       42 

V.  TIM  GIVES  ME  AN  OUTING        .          .          .          -55 

VI.  AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST    .....       67 

VII.  WENDELL'S  QUEER  DAY 80 

VIII.  MvjABBOK 89 

IX.  No  BENEDICTION  SUNDAY  ....       99 

X.  HENDERSON  RETURNS  TO  His  OWN  COUNTRY  BY 

ANOTHER  WAY    .  .          .          .          .          .in 

XI.  JOE  SURPRISES  ME     .          .          .          .          .          .121 

XII.  WHICH  RECORDS  Two  JOURNEYS         .         .  134 

XIII.  ON  SHIPBOARD          ......      144 

XIV.  ON  FOREIGN  SHORES          .          .          .          .          .158 

XV.  THE  BUMMERS'  CLUB         .          .          .          .          .171 

XVI.  I  VISIT  DUQUEBORO 1 88 

XVI].  I  LEARN  MORE  ABOUT  LEWIS  JORDAN           .          .     205 

XVIII.  RED  HEADLINES 215 

XIX.  TOM       ........     229 

XX.  JULIA  BECOMES  MY  CHAMPION  ....     238 

XXI.  JIM  GARVEY  REAPPEARS     .....      247 

XXII.  THREE  LETTERS        ......     257 

XXIII.  ON  THE  THRESHOLD  AT  DUQUEBORO   .          .          .271 

XXIV.  GRANDVIEW  ONCE  MORE  ....     279 

XXV.  PERIL  SURPRISES  LOVE       .....     289 

5 


6 


CONTENTS 


XXVI.  LOVE'S  CONFESSION 

XXVII.  A  VISIT  TO  OLD  FRIENDS 

XXVIII.  AN  AWFUL  NIGHT 

XXIX.  AT  My  ALMA  MATER    . 

XXX.  THE  GREENTON  CENTENNIAL 

XXXI.  HENDERSON'S  LAST  DAYS 

XXXII.  HENDERSON'S  WILL 


306 

3'3 
321 

336 
342 
352 
366 


The  Maid  of  Honor 


A  WEDDING  AT  ST.  DAVID'S 

THERE  was  to  be  a  wedding  at  old  St.  David's, 
and  I  was  to  be  the  best  man.  The  groom 
and  I  had  been  classmates  in  college,  mem 
bers  of  the  same  fraternity,  and  roommates  for  the 
better  part  of  four  years.  The  day  of  graduation, 
which  means  separation,  had  come  to  us  as  it  does  to 
all  college  boys.  We  smoked  our  parting  pipe  in  the 
fraternity  lodge  room,  sang  the  song  of  "  The  Girl  I 
Left  Behind  Me,"  and  turned  our  faces  toward  the 
future  with  the  hope  that  destiny  would  bring  to  view 
the  faces  of  other  girls,  of  whom  one  for  each  of  us 
would  not  be  left  behind. 

Two  men  could  not  well  have  been  more  unlike 
than  were  Harry  Sinclair  and  I.  He  was  of  less  than 
medium  height,  with  round,  full  face,  and  light-brown 
hair  which  was  a  fine  setting  for  a  florid  complexion. 
His  eyes  and  mouth  betokened  one  who  would  take 
what  came  in  daily  life,  but  who  would  vastly  prefer 
to  choose  for  himself  what  daily  life  should  bring. 
He  was  an  easy-going,  good-natured  man  who  could 
be  strong  and  stern  when  occasion  arose.  Of  course, 
in  college  he  was  popular. 

We  had  each  chosen  the  ministry  for  a  life  work, 
and  this  caused  our  separation ;  for  Harry  was  an 

7 


8  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

Episcopalian  and  went  to  Philadelphia  to  the  divinity 
school,  while  I,  being  a  Congregationalist,  made  my 
way  to  Andover.  Harry's  suave  manner  and  genial 
disposition  made  him  easily  the  faculty's  first  favorite, 
and  when  at  his  graduation  the  parish  of  old  St. 
David's  was  without  a  rector,  seminary  influence  at 
once  placed  him  there  as  incumbent.  Harry  consid 
ered  that  great  good  fortune. 

The  outcome  of  my  seminary  life  was  as  happy. 
The  Presbyterian  church  of  my  native  city  called  me 
at  once,  and  the  installation  occurred  within  a  month 
of  my  graduation.  And  now  five  years  had  passed, 
and  Harry  Sinclair  had  called  me  to  be  best  man,  as 
he  took,  at  the  altar,  that  other  girl  for  whom  he 
had  hoped  so  sentimentally,  years  before.  The  rector 
of  old  St.  David's  was  to  be  married  in  his  own 
church. 

Two  days  before  the  wedding  found  me  in  Paoli, 
where  Sinclair  lived  in  his  bachelor  abode.  He  had 
planned,  for  the  afternoon,  a  visit  to  the  church  and  a 
call  upon  the  bride-elect  and  her  maid  of  honor,  who 
were  the  guests  of  the  Waynes  of  the  day,  at  the  old 
"Wayne  Mansion,  which  stood  almost  as  in  the  days  of 
"  Mad  Anthony."  The  bride  was  a  relative  of  the 
Waynes,  and  had  very  romantic  notions  about  her 
kinsman,  the  great  General  of  the  Revolution.  So, 
though  her  home  was  in  Virginia,  she  had  asked  the 
privilege  of  being  married  in  the  old  church,  and  of 
having  her  wedding  dinner  in  the  room  where  the 
chivalrous  Anthony  was  born. 

Of  course  St.  David's  was  the  first  object  of  interest 
for  Harry  to  point  out  to  his  guest,  and  we  made  the 
five  miles  in  the  early  afternoon  at  a  rapid  canter. 
The  quaint  little  church,  one  of  the  few  surviving 


A  WEDDING  AT  ST.  DAVID'S  9 

things  of  which  we  Northerners  may  be  proud,  stood 
just  where  the  fathers  placed  it  two  hundred  years 
ago.  It  had  suffered  no  change.  Watchful  eyes  and 
faithful  hands  had  kept  even  the  tooth  of  time  from 
harming  it.  On  a  sequestered  country  road,  behind 
and  among  enveloping  hills,  shaded  by  old  trees,  low- 
built,  with  ivy  clambering  over  it,  with  a  strong  stone 
wall  standing  guard  between  the  churchyard  and  the 
highway,  and  with  the  graves  of  the  dead  of  almost 
two  centuries  coming  close  up  around  its  always  open 
door — so  stood  St.  David's,  built  sixty  years  before  the 
American  Revolution. 

But  beautiful  as  was  the  exterior,  its  charm  was  lost 
when  once  the  interior  was  seen.  That  was  so  small, 
so  quaint,  so  staid,  so  perfect.  It  wras  only  a 
miniature  as  compared  with  churches  of  to-day :  but 
the  miniature  was  altogether  fascinating.  The  great 
Bible  on  the  lectern  looked  too  large  to  have  been 
carried  in  at  the  little  door.  The  room  was  almost 
square.  From  the  entrance  door  on  the  side  ran  an 
aisle,  straight  across  to  the  wall  beyond,  where  the 
baptismal  font  was  placed.  A  longer  aisle  extended 
from  the  rear  to  the  altar  space,  so  the  cross  aisles 
formed  four  blocks  of  corner  pews.  Six  pews  were  in 
each  block — pews  of  the  old  colonial  type,  white,  with 
round  brown  rails  at  the  top,  and  little  doors  that 
shut  and  buttoned  fast  upon  the  worshipers.  I  found 
myself  calculating  how  many  persons  the  church 
would  hold,  and  wondering  how  many  were  invited. 
Four  corners  full  of  pews,  each  corner  holding  six, 
and  each  one  of  the  six  pews  capable  of  seating  five 
guests.  Four  sixes  were  twenty-four,  and  twenty-four 
fives  were  one  hundred  and  twenty.  Finally  I  called 
out  in  the  stillness : 


10  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Harry,  how  many  bids  for  this  affair  of  yours  and 
Phyllis's  ?  " 

"  A  hundred  and  twenty  :  Phyllis  attended  to  all 
that.  She  came  over  here  and  counted.  She  wants 
the  place  just  full,  not  a  vacant  seat,  not  a  guest  too 
many." 

"  She's  methodical,  isn't  she  ?  She  invites  to  a 
nicety.  She'll  make  you.  account  for  the  pennies,  by 
and  by,  boy.  And  you  needn't  fume  when  that  time 
comes,  and  say  you  don't  know  where  those  winged 
pennies  go.  She'll  make  you  tell." 

We  talked  about  how  to  walk  in,  and  how  to  walk 
out,  and  where  each  should  stand,  and  how  the  ring 
should  be  given,  and  whether  the  best  man  should 
walk  out  with  the  maid  of  honor,  just  as  if  we  had 
anything  at  all  to  say  about  that,  and  just  as  if  neither 
of  us  had  ever  seen  a  marriage  ceremony.  We  both 
agreed  that  we  never  had  seen  such  a  one  as  this  was 
to  be.  After  that,  we  passed  outside  to  look  at  the 
graves.  That  old  burying-ground  had  a  history.  If 
it  could  talk,  what  a  thrilling  story  it  could  tell.  Ivy 
crept  over  the  marble  slabs,  and  myrtle  ran  every 
where  among  the  graves.  I  walked  away  from  my 
companion,  and  my  thoughts  were  summoning  historic 
forms  from  the  past  as  I  read  the  inscriptions  on  the 
old  stones.  Turning  back  to  Harry  I  said  : 

"  Harry,  this  makes  me  feel  as  Hamlet  must  have 
felt  when  with  Horatio  he  wandered  in  the  ancient 
buryingground  in  Denmark.  All  it  lacks  is  the  open 
grave,  the  digger,  the  song,  and  the  skull." 

"  That's  all  so,"  Harry  answered.  "  But  we  can't 
stop.  Never  mind  the  song ;  never  mind  the  skull. 
It's  mount  and  away.  There's  more  to  show  you,  and 
we  must  be  at  the  Wayne  Mansion  in  an  hour." 


A  WEDDING  AT  ST.  DAVID'S  11 

Over  the  hills  we  galloped  until  we  came  to  old 
Paoli  battle-field,  and  dismounted  where  the  monu 
ment  stands  that  commemorates  the  event. 

In  the  open  field  close  by,  a  picnic  was  in  progress, 
and  men  and  boys  of  various  ages,  mixed  together 
incongruously,  were  playing  baseball.  I  watched  the 
game  for  a  moment,  and  then  turned  back  to  the  small 
marble  shaft,  and  began  once  more  to  read  the  inscrip 
tion.  While  so  engaged,  and  trying  to  get  into 
spiritual  touch  with  the  past,  I  felt  rather  than  saw 
one  of  the  men  from  the  picnic  approach.  With  no 
hesitation  he  said : 

"  Interested  in  history,  I  see." 

"  Yes,  greatly,"  I  replied. 

"Then  of  course  you  know  all  about  the  Paoli 
massacre." 

I  was  ashamed  to  confess  myself  ignorant  of  any 
point  of  my  country's  history,  but  there  was  no  other 
way ;  and  I  answered,  "  No,  I  know  nothing  about  it, 
save  what  is  written  on  this  stone." 

He  then  told  me  the  tragic  story  of  Wayne's  defeat 
by  General  Gray :  how  Wayne  had  planned  to  sur 
prise  the  British  commander,  and  had  himself  been 
surprised  and  routed  through  the  treachery  of  his 
Tory  countrymen. 

"  Were  there  many  Tories  here  ?  "  I  asked. 

u  Many  ? "  he  questioned  in  reply.  "  Yes,  too 
many.  Old  St.  David's  was  Church  of  England 
Episcopalian,  and  many  of  its  men  were  Tories.  Pity 
that  church  hadn't  been  Presbyterian.  The  Presby 
terians  were  patriots,  every  last  man  of  them.  There 
was  not  a  Presbyterian  Tory  in  the  whole  province." 

Sinclair  had  taken  no  part  in  the  conversation,  but 
he  winced  at  that,  and  colored,  and  knowing  as  I  did 


12  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

his  every  mood,  I  feared  a  sudden  flame  of  wrath. 
Before  he  could  say  a  word,  I  broke  in  with  the  eager 
question : 

"  Are  you  a  Presbyterian,  then  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  that's  what  I  am — a  Presbyterian 
preacher ;  Westminster  Confession  of  Faith  Presby 
terian  preacher." 

"  May  I  ask  your  name  ?  " 

"Why  not?"  said  he.  "I'm  always  glad  to  tell 
my  name.  I  am  Chalfant  Fraser,  at  your  service. 
And  you  ?  " 

I  gave  my  name,  and  asked,  "  Is  your  church  near 
here  ?  " 

"  Yonder  in  Malvern.  These  are  the  favorite 
grounds  for  our  young  people  for  picnics,  and  I  like  to 
have  them  come  here.  I  tell  them  these  grounds  are 
the  campus  of  Liberty  College,  and  the  trees  sing 
patriotic  songs  when  the  wind  blows  high." 

"  So  you're  a  Presbyterian  preacher  ?  Well,  that 
makes  two  of  us,"  I  answered,  "  for  I  am  a  Presby 
terian  preacher,  too.  My  friend  here  is  the  rector  of 
old  St.  David's.  But  he's  no  Tory.  He's  a  patriot. 
He's  going  to  be  married  to  one  of  the  old  General's 
kinswomen,  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

Straight  over  to  Sinclair  the  preacher  walked.  "  So 
you  are  Mr.  Sinclair  ?  I  have  never  met  you  before, 
but  I  know  all  about  you.  Will  you  take  my  hand  ? 
I  didn't  mean  any  offense  :  facts  are  facts,  we  cannot 
dodge  that.  But  I  wouldn't  have  said  what  I  did,  had 
I  known,  and  I  ask  your  pardon." 

Then  Sinclair  did  one  of  those  handsome  things 
which  always  made  him  popular  with  men.  He 
stepped  quickly  nearer,  grasped  the  stranger's  hand, 
and  with  a  good  strong  shake  said,  "Take  your 


A  WEDDING  AT  ST.  DAVID'S  13 

hand?  Well,  I  should  say  so.  Why  shouldn't  I? 
Probably  I've  no  business  to  be  an  Episcopalian. 
But  though  I  am,  I'm  no  Tory,  but  a  patriot :  every 
inch  of  me  a  patriot." 

Upon  that  I  interrupted  saying,  "  Harry,  let  me 
make  you  acquainted  with  our  new  friend.  This  is 
the  Rev.  Chalfant  Fraser  of  Malvern,  and  your 
neighbor."  Then  Harry's  whole  manner  changed. 
"  Fraser :  Fraser  ?  "  he  replied.  "  Why,  that's  the 
name  of  one  of  Phyllis's  ushers.  Is  he  a  relative  of 
yours  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he's  my  son,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  said  Harry.  "  Now,  this  is  fine.  I 
haven't  seen  your  son  yet,  but  he'll  be  all  right,  I 
know." 

"  Yes,  he'll  be  all  right :  so  I  think.  He  arrives 
home  to-night.  He's  in  business  in  Newark,  New  Jer 
sey.  He's  an  old  beau  of  Phyllis's,  but  she  dropped 
him  when  you  came  into  the  field." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Then  Mr.  Fraser, 
stepping  back  and  ejdng  Harry,  said,  "  So  you  are  to 
marry  Phyllis  Lorraine  ?  Well,  I  congratulate  you, 
for  I  know  her.  The  whole  Union  can't  beat  her. 
And  if  she  were  here  I'd  congratulate  her  too."  And 
Harry,  with  a  last  shake  of  the  man's  hand,  which  he 
still  held,  answered,  "  Right  you  are,  my  friend.  The 
whole  Union  can't  beat  her ;  no,  nor  the  Union 
and  Dominion  joined.  She's  the  finest,  the  very 
finest " 

"  Boots  and  saddles,  Harry  !  "  I  cried,  almost  at  the 
top  of  my  voice.  "  You  nipped  my  sentiment  in  the 
churchyard,  I'll  nip  yours  here.  The  gloaming's  com 
ing  :  white  sails  wait  in  the  offing,  and  there's  a  day 
after  to-morrow  for  you,  and  perhaps  a  to-night  for 


U  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

me ;  for  I  have  not  yet  seen  Phyllis,  and  that  other, 
that  maid  of  honor  girl — perhaps  she  is  for  me,  who 
knows  ?  " 

We  mounted  and  rode  slowly  down  the  bridle  path 
toward  the  highway. 

The  dusk  of  a  September  day  was  settling  down 
when  I  first  saw  Phyllis  Lorraine.  She  had  been  ex 
pecting  us,  had  seen  us  approaching,  and  stood  waiting 
in  the  wide  hall  of  the  Wayne  Mansion.  The  lamp 
light  fell  softly  on  her  face  and  figure,  showing  both 
in  the  loveliest  way. 

They  were  very  unlike,  Harry  and  Phyllis.  He  was 
Saxon,  and  she  was  southern.  The  stream  that  dark 
ens  the  cheek,  and  makes  the  indescribable  complexion 
that  we  call  "  brunette,"  had  been  poured  into  her  life 
from  some  ancestral  spring.  "Brunette,"  "little 
brown,"  is  just  the  word  to  describe  her.  Glowing 
she  was,  and  rosy,  but  the  rosiness  was  softened  by 
the  brown.  She  was  tall,  but  not  very  tall;  she 
moved  as  southern  girls  always  move,  with  a  grace 
that  makes  you  wonder.  As  she  came  forward  to 
meet  us,  her  red-brown  cheeks  glowed,  and  her  eyes 
kindled  with  welcome. 

"  So  this  is  Harry's  chum  ?  I've  heard  all  about 
you.  I  know  you  perfectly.  I  give  you  welcome, 
though  this  is  not  my  home.  This  was  my  kinsman's 
home,  General  Wayne,  and  he  is  welcoming  you  in  my 
words.  But  you  must  have  been  far  around,  for  you 
are  late." 

I  listened  to  her  voice  in  rapt  fascination,  never 
having  heard  a  southern  girl  speak  before,  and  that 
liquid,  indescribable  sound  with  which  she  had  just 
said  "around"  had  captured  me.  No  one  can  say 
"  ou  "  as  the  southern  girl  does,  and  as  I  heard  it  now 


A  WEDDING  AT  ST.  DAA'ID'S  15 

for  the  first  time,  I  said  to  myself,  "I  wish  she  would 
say  'around,'  and '  about,'  and  'sound,'  and  any  other 
word  with  '  ou '  in  it,  for  an  hour.  It  equals  any 
song."  But  to  stand  in  dumb  show,  admiring,  was 
impossible, and  I  said,  as  any  country  gentleman  would, 
"  Our  ride  has  been  long,  but  I  have  enjoyed  it 
greatly,  Miss  Lorraine.  I  have  seen  some  things  I 
shall  not  forget ;  not  the  least  of  them  is  the  little 
church  in  the  ingleside.  But  had  I  known  the  pleas 
ure  that  awaited  me  here,  I  would  have  made  Harry 
hasten." 

"  Oh,  you  northern  men  are  all  alike,"  she  retorted. 
"  You  love  to  be  gallant  in  speech.  But  you  are  right 
about  the  little  church.  It  is  a  dear,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  That  it  is,"  was  my  answer.  "  I  would  like  to  be 
married  there  myself." 

Upon  that  she  turned  to  Harry,  and  said,  "  Do  you 
know  how  late  you  two  men  are?"  But  ere  Harry 
could  reply,  a  man  who  had  come  in  added  : 

"  Yes,  Sinclair,  you  are  late.  And  I've  come  in  to 
ask  you  and  your  friend  to  stay  to  tea."  Whereupon 
Harry  introduced  me  to  Mr.  Wayne.  After  a  saluta 
tion,  he  proceeded,  "  Come,  gentlemen,  Phyllis  will 
excuse  you  while  you  put  off  the  dust  of  your  ride,  and 
tea  will  be  ready  presently."  He  led  the  way  to  the 
stairs,  Phyllis  calling  after  us,  "  Now,  hasten,  Harry. 
I  want  your  friend  to  see  the  rest  of  the  family  before 
tea  is  served.  Yes — and  Harry,  he  has  not  seen  my 
maid  of  honor." 

When  Sinclair  and  I  came  down  the  broad  stairs, 
the  family  and  guests  were  waiting  in  the  hall.  From 
those  stairs  I  had  my  first  sight  of  the  maid  of  honor. 
My  heart  almost  stopped  beating  at  sight  of  that  girl. 
As  I  had  gone  up  the  stairs,  I  had  thought  of  nothing 


16  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

but  the  beauty  of  Phyllis  Lorraine  and  Harry's  good 
fortune.  As  I  came  down,  I  thought  of  nothing  but 
the  vision  of  beauty  standing  by  Phyllis's  side. 
Mechanically  I  heard  and  saw  myself  presented  to  the 
members  of  the  Wayne  family.  What  sort  of  responses 
I  made  to  their  greetings  I  never  knew.  But  Phyllis 
recalled  me  to  myself  in  a  moment,  as  she  said, 
"And  now  let  me  present  you  to  my  very  dear 
friend,  my  maid  of  honor.  Will  you  escort  her  in  to 
tea?" 

Upon  that,  I  came  to  myself,  and  bowing  said, 
"May  I  have  that  honor?"  With  a  graceful 
movement  of  her  head,  but  without  looking  at 
me,  she  answered,  "  Thank  you,"  and  took  my  offered 
arm. 

How  that  tea-time  passed,  I  never  quite  knew.  The 
woman  by  my  side  had  robbed  me  of  my  customary 
power  to  talk.  Harry  and  Miss  Lorraine  sat  opposite, 
and  the  stream  of  conversation  ran  on  cheerily ;  but 
my  words  were  not  making  even  a  little  eddy  in  the 
surface,  and  I  was  conscious  that  the  maid  of  honor 
was  in  the  most  lady-like  way  ignoring  me.  But  there 
was  one  compensation :  my  mind  was  busy  with  the 
picture  she  had  made  as  she  stood  in  the  hall  while  I 
came  down  the  stairs.  It  was  a  lovely  picture.  Tall, 
almost  as  tall  as  I ;  straight,  graceful,  in  perfect  poise  ; 
fair,  with  hair  the  color  of  the  smoke-tree  blossom  in 
my  home  dooryard ;  her  complexion  clear,  auroral, 
tinted  like  the  sky  in  an  early  cloudless  morning, 
neither  pale  nor  rosy,  but  a  blending  of  the  white 
and  red  such  as  no  brush  could  paint ;  and  faultlessly 
dressed,  though  in  the  utmost  simplicity,  she  had  stood 
there  like  a  queen.  The  girls  had  been  busy  with 
some  of  the  wedding  preliminaries,  and  the  work  was 


A  WEDDING  AT  ST.  DAVID'S  17 

not  yet  all  done.  Phyllis  was  so  informal  that  she 
kept  on  her  work  apron,  nor  would  she  allow  her 
friend  to  lay  hers  aside. 

So  the  maid  of  honor,  wearing  a  plain  but  perfectly 
fitting  black  gown  and  a  long  apron,  had  met  the 
best  man  and  accepted  his  escort.  But  the  impression 
that  apron  had  made  was  to  endure  for  all  time.  It 
was  pink,  of  a  shade  so  nearly  like  the  light  in  her 
face  that,  had  the  two  met,  no  one  could  have  told 
where  either  ended  or  the  other  began.  I  never 
had  known  before  that  black  and  pink  could  make  so 
becoming  a  costume.  That  vision  was  my  undoing. 
I  tried  to  talk,  but  I  was  thinking  of  the  maid  of 
honor.  When  tea  was  over,  and  Mr.  Wayne  took 
me  about  the  old  house,  I  could  not  tell  what  we  saw, 
nor  where  we  went.  I  was  thinking  of  the  maid  of 
honor.  Phyllis  showed  me  the  room  where  the 
General  was  born,  and  where  her  wedding  dinner 
would  be  served,  but  I  took  little  heed.  I  was  thinking 
of  the  maid  of  honor.  I  think  no  man  ever  made  a 
worse  guy  of  himself.  Of  course  that  would  not  do, 
so  I  pulled  myself  together  after  a  while  and  acted  as 
a  guest,  who  wished  to  make  a  good  impression  upon 
all,  should  act ;  but  the  maid  of  honor  was  absolutely 
unresponsive  to  my  every  advance.  The  girl  and  the 
man  had  even  so  soon  formed  opinions  of  each  other 
which  probably  neither  would  have  had  the  other 
know.  I  knew  both ;  I  loved  her,  and  she  regarded 
me  with  aversion. 

It  was  half-past  twelve  o'clock  when  Harry  and  I 
were  back  in  the  den  at  Paoli.  I  was  very  ill  at  ease, 
because  of  the  manifest  attitude  toward  me  of  that 
girl.  I  knew  perfectly  well  that  she  had  drawn  her- 


18  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

self  away  from  me  before  supper  was  ended,  and  I 
chafed  under  my  failure  to  please  her. 

Harry  would  smoke  before  he  went  to  bed,  and  I 
joined  him,  though  I  was  no  great  smoker,  and  was 
thinking  of  other  things  than  those  which  the  Indian 
weed  is  apt  to  conjure  up. 

"  Isn't  she  great  ?  "  said  Harry. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

"  Isn't  the  man  lucky  that  gets  her  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Isn't  she  the  handsomest  woman  you  ever  saw  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Isn't  she  just  Yenus,  and  Helen  of  Troy,  and  Dido 
of  Carthage,  and  Parthenia,  and  all  the  rest  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"What  would  you  give  to  be  in  my  place,  old 
fellow  ?  " 

"  Not  one  red  cent." 

"What!  and  she  all  that?" 

"  Yes,  just  because  she  is  all  that." 

"  And  you  wouldn't  take  my  place  because  she  is  all 
that?" 

"  No,  I  wouldn't,  and  just  because  she  is  all  that." 

"  Don't  you  admire  beauty  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  "do." 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  have  the  handsomest  woman 
in  the  world  for  your  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  would." 

"  And  yet  you  wouldn't  take  my  place  ?  " 

"  No,  I  wouldn't." 

"  Look  here,  old  man,  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"Nothing's  the  matter  with  me.  I'm  sleepy,  and 
this  cigar  is  too  strong  for  me.  I  knew  it  was  when 
I  took  it.  Let's  go  to  bed." 


A  WEDDING  AT  ST.  DAVID'S  19 

We  rehearsed  at  St.  David's  Church  next  day. 
Harry  and  I  rode  over  to  the  Wayne  Mansion,  and 
then  acted  as  escorts  for  the  carriages  that  took  the 
remainder  of  the  party  to  the  church.  The  Bishop  of 
the  diocese  was  to  perform  the  ceremony  for  his 
young  rector,  but  he  would  not  come  out  to  St.  David's 
for  any  rehearsal.  He  wrote,  "  Arrange  matters  as 
you  please.  I  will  be  there  ;  I  know  how  to  do  my 
part." 

At  the  church  we  found  the  two  ushers  waiting. 
Harry  knew  one  of  them  as  he  was  his  choice,  but  Phyllis 
had  insisted  that  she  be  allowed  to  choose  the  other. 
"It  is  not  conventional,  I  know,"  she  had  said,  "  but  I 
want  Bruce  Fraser.  He's  a  good  friend  of  mine."  So 
Phyllis  had  her  way. 

I  was  more  interested  in  Bruce  Fraser  than  I  would 
have  been  but  for  the  pleasant  meeting  with  his  father. 
I  could  see  at  once  why  Mr.  Fraser  had  said  Bruce 
was  all  right.  lie  did  look  so.  He  was  tall  and  well 
built,  very  fair,  with  light  wavy  hair,  blue  eyes  and  a 
melodious  voice.  But  there  was  something  about  his 
lips  that  I  did  not  like.  It  did  not  take  a  second  for 
me  to  see  that  he  was  interested  in  the  maid  of  honor. 
That  thought  was  confirmed  before  the  rehearsal  was 
over,  and  there  came  to  me  a  presentiment  that  there 
would  be  trouble  between  him  and  me  sometime. 

The  little  company  gathered  at  the  gate  by  the 
roadside,  for  the  procession  was  to  start  from  the 
carriages.  Unique,  and  unlike  any  wedding  procession 
I  had  ever  seen,  was  that  one.  I  went  first  on  the  arm 
of  an  usher,  and  next  came  Harry  in  the  same  way. 
After  him  walked  the  maid  of  honor  alone,  and  last 
of  all  the  bride-elect,  escorted  by  her  father.  Phyllis 
had  planned  all.  She  had  a  genius  for  doing  unusual 


20  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

things  just  as  if  they  were  as  common  as  air.  Thus 
it  happened  that  I  reached  my  place  at  the  altar  first, 
and  from  that  point  of  vantage  watched  the  rest.  On 
they  came,  but  after  the  first  glance  my  whole  atten 
tion  was  given  to  the  maid  of  honor.  She  was  as 
erect  and  graceful  as  the  fabled  queen  of  beauty,  and 
I  blessed  the  man  who  built  that  church,  and  made  it 
possible  for  me  to  see  such  loveliness  unchallenged. 

I  acted  as  Bishop's  dummy  in  the  rehearsal,  reading 
from  the  prayer-book  as  well  as  I  could  with  one  eye 
on  the  book,  and  the  other  on — well,  not  on  Phyllis 
Lorraine.  It  all  went  well  enough  until  the  return 
march.  Then  I,  longing  to  have  that  lovely  girl  on 
my  arm  once  more,  said : 

"  Let's  make  this  a  compact,  three-couple  affair,  as 
we  go  out.  It  will  be  much  more  symmetrical  than 
for  one  couple  to  lead  and  four  singles  to  go  trailing 
along  behind.  Three  men,  one  by  one,  look  too  much 
like  flunkeys." 

Phyllis  clapped  her  hands,  and  cried,  "  Oh,  yes :  that 
will  be  lovely.  That's  just  what  I  want." 

Then  Harry's  usher  said,  "  Why,  yes  :  I  think  that 
will  be  au  fait" 

Bruce  Fraser  said  nothing,  but  I  saw  him  and  the 
maid  of  honor  exchange  glances,  and  then  that  lady 
spoke.  "  If  there  were  three  or  four  bridesmaids, 
and  three  or  four  ushers,  and  presenting  arms,  as  the 
soldiers  say,  were  the  order  for  all,  it  would  be  well 
enough.  But  as  it  is,  I  think  Phyllis  and  Mr.  Sinclair, 
the  Princess  and  her  Prince,  should  be  followed  by 
us  all  singly  and  in  courtier-like  humility." 

That  was  all  she  said,  but  the  matter  was  settled. 
For  once  Phyllis  was  not  to  have  her  way,  and  I 
saw  what  none  of  the  rest  did :  a  light  in  the  eye  of 


A  WEDDING  AT  ST.  DAVID'S  21 

that  maid  of  honor  which  looked  as  if  it  might  have 
been  flashed  from  an  iceberg.  Yet  below  her  eyes  her 
face  was  covered  with  a  smile.  Glancing  the  next 
instant  at  Bruce  Fraser,  I  saw  an  answering  smile  just 
vanishing  from  his  face.  The  best  man  had  been 
snubbed  by  the  maid  of  honor,  and  he  knew  it;  he  re 
solved  not  to  incur  another  snub  during  those  wedding 
days. 

The  wedding  was  a  success.  The  Bishop,  berobed 
and  august,  officiated.  The  one  hundred  and  twenty 
guests  gathered  from  far  and  wide.  The  little  organ 
made  such  music  as  its  possibilities  permitted.  Harry 
was  solemn.  Phyllis  was  radiant.  The  maid  of  honor 
looked  like  a  queen.  As  the  wedding  procession 
passed  from  the  church,  Phyllis  led  the  way  to 
General  Wayne's  tomb,  and  tore  apart  her  wedding 
bouquet,  strewing  its  flowers  about  the  base  of  the 
shaft  that  marked  her  great  kinsman's  grave.  Then 
back  the  procession  went  to  the  old  Wayne  Mansion, 
to  congratulations,  to  the  wedding  dinner,  to  adieus, 
and  to  separation.  The  wedding  at  St.  David's  was 
over. 


II 

I  MAKE  AN  ACQUAINTANCE 

THE  train  for  New  York  was  ready  when  I 
reached  the  station.  I  was  hurrying  toward 
the  only  parlor  car,  when  ray  eyes  caught 
sight  of  the  maid  of  honor  just  entering  it.  She 
paused  a  moment,  to  say  "  good-bye  "  to  Mr.  Lorraine, 
Phyllis's  father,  and  as  I  was  in  no  mood  to  meet 
either  of  them,  I  went  into  the  coach  at  hand. 

The  brief  sight  of  Mr.  Lorraine  called  vividly  to  mind 
the  only  thing  I  had  not  liked  about  the  wedding  party. 
That  was  the  punchbowl  under  the  stairs.  It  was  one 
of  the  insignia  of  the  fashionable  circles  of  the  great 
cities  which  the  country  parson  could  not  abide.  To 
my  great  surprise,  Mr.  Lorraine,  who  was  in  all  ex 
ternals  an  elegant  gentleman,  paid  too  much  court  to 
the  punchbowl,  and  with  him  always  seemed  to  be 
young  Fraser,  the  usher.  When  the  latter  bade  his 
hosts  good-night,  he  was  unmistakably  the  worse  for 
liquor.  I  saw  him  when  he  said  adieu  to  my  lady. 
There  was  a  sentence  or  two  that  appeared  almost 
confidential,  to  my  watchful  eyes,  and  then  she  said 
more  audibly : 

"  And  you  won't  forget  what  I  told  you,  will  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  won't.  I  couldn't ;  'pon  my  word,  I 
couldn't." 

"You'd  better  not,"  she  said,  and  he  was  gone. 
My  parting  with  her  had  been  very  different,  and  was 
too  fresh  in  memory  to  make  me  care  for  the  exchange 

22 


I  MAKE  AN  ACQUAINTANCE  23 

of  a  word  with  her.  I  had  been  the  last  guest  to 
leave  the  Wayne  Mansion,  and  when  the  adieus  had 
been  made  to  my  good  hosts,  I  had  said  to  the  maid 
of  honor : 

"  These  last  two  days  have  been  varied  and  happy." 

"  Indeed  they  have,"  said  she.     "  Good-night." 

Almost  any  man  in  his  senses  would  have  under 
stood  that,  and  have  gone  without  another  word. 
But  I  was  madly  in  love.  In  all  those  days,  where 
this  girl  lived  had  not  been  mentioned,  and  I  intended 
to  ask  her  at  parting. 

So  I  kept  on,  "  We  have  had  a  part  not  soon  to  be 
forgotten,  in  a  lovely  festivity." 

"  Yes.  Good-bye,"  she  answered,  and  her  manner 
would  have  done  credit  to  Lord  Chesterfield.  I 
blundered  on. 

"  You  will  be  going  home  soon,  I  suppose :  to-mor 
row,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to-morrow,  perhaps,"  said  she,  with  studied 
emphasis  of  my  words.  And  she  added  for  the  third 
time,  "  Good-bye." 

Then  I  comprehended  that  it  was  time  to  go,  and 
with  such  dignity  and  hauteur  as  I  could  assume,  I 
said,  "  The  best  man  says  farewell,  his  last  farewell, 
to  the  maid  of  honor,  and  thanks  her  for  the  pleasure 
she  has  conferred  in  a  festal  hour." 

And  she  answered,  just  as  she  had  already,  without 
a  change  of  tone,  without  a  modulation  of  the  note 
she  had  first  struck,  "  Thank  you.  Good-bye." 

If  you  have  ever  been  in  love,  you  do  not  need  to 
have  me  tell  you  that  the  hours  I  had  passed  since 
that  last  "  good-bye  "  until  I  saw  her  enter  the  parlor 
car  had  not  been  wholly  unperturbed,  and  as  I  went 
into  the  coach,  that  last  glimpse  of  her  put  my  brain 


24  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

in  a  whirl.  She  was  entrancingly  beautiful.  I  loved 
her,  and  I  was  losing  her  forever.  I  could  have 
written  to  ask  Harry  where  her  home  was,  but  that 
would  have  been  to  tell  him  my  secret,  and  perhaps 
my  sorrow,  and  I  would  not  have  him  know  either. 
He  would  tell  Phyllis,  and  she  would  tell  the  girl, 
and  that  must  never  be,  if  it  could  be  possibly  pre 
vented. 

There  is  a  friend  of  mine  who  is  accustomed  to  say, 
"  God  helps  the  man  who  can't  help  himself."  The 
saying  was  proved  true  that  afternoon.  How  much  I 
might  have  moped  and  droned,  I  know  not,  had  it  not 
been  for  what  happened.  The  train  was  full  to  the 
doors.  I  went  through  car  after  car  without  finding 
a  seat.  In  the  last  car  I  came  upon  one  in  which  there 
was  only  one  passenger,  and  his  appearance  was  not 
particularly  inviting.  But  it  was  my  only  chance,  and 
I  dropped  into  the  vacant  place  timidly,  as  if  I  had  no 
right  there. 

Little  by  little  I  settled  into  the  place,  and  began  to 
take  account  of  my  seat  companion.  He  was  holding 
a  large,  flexible-covered  Bible,  a  pad  of  paper,  and  a 
pencil,  and  was  deeply  engrossed,  reading  and  note- 
making.  I  began  to  watch  him,  at  first  stealthily, 
then,  seeing  how  preoccupied  he  was,  more  boldly,  and 
finally  rather  more  closely,  probably,  than  politeness 
would  have  allowed ;  when  to  my  great  surprise  he 
turned  squarely  upon  me,  saying  : 

"  Ye  want  to  know  what  I  am  doin',  I  doot.  I 
don't  mind  tellin'  ye.  I've  been  havin'  a  discussion 
wi'  some  friends  o'  mine,  who  think  I  don't  know  what 
releegion  is.  I  do.  But  I  want  to  get  masel'  fortified. 
I  want  the  bottom  facts.  Ye  don't  know  me,  but  I'll 
tell  ye  the  kind  o'  man  I  am.  I'm  a  very  releegious  man. 


I  MAKE  AN  ACQUAINTANCE  25 

I'm  probably  more  releegious  than  any  o'  the  people 
o'  my  acquaintance,  and  I'm  probably  more  releegious 
than  yoursel'." 

Those  were  the  first  words  David  Henderson  ever 
spoke  to  me.  In  them,  he  introduced  himself,  and  the 
introduction  was  perfect.  As  the  years  passed  by,  I 
came  to  know  him  well ;  ho\v  well,  it  is  part  of  the 
business  of  this  story  to  relate. 

Two  things  were  very  clear :  the  man  was  Scotch  , 
and  he  wanted  to  talk.  He  had  flung  out  his  last 
remark  like  a  challenge,  and  I  knew  if  I  took  up  the 
gauntlet,  there  would  be  a  discussion  on  religion.  A 
Scotchman  may  be  as  reticent  as  a  crab  about  ordinary 
things,  but  he  is  like  the  war-horse  that  snuffeth  the 
battle  afar  off  and  paweth  in  the  valley  when  he  sees 
an  opening  for  discussion  about  religion.  But  I  wel 
comed  the  challenge,  and  replied  : 

"  You  may  be  more  religious  than  I.  But  I  ought 
to  be  fairly  religious,  being  a  preacher  of  the  gospel." 

His  answer  was  a  staggerer. 

"  I  would  be  thinkin'  so.  Ye  look  half-scared  and 
uncertain,  as  most  preachers  do.  Ye  droppit  into  this 
seat,  half  o'  which  was  yours  by  right,  as  if  ye  were  a 
thief,  takin'  what  didna  belong  to  ye.  Ye  sat  doon 
wi'  aboot  half  your  weight  on  the  seat,  balancin'  the 
rest  o'  yoursel'  on  your  legs,  and  ye  held  yoursel' 
thegither  as  if  ye  were  afraid  to  touch  me,  lest  ye 
might  catch  somethin'.  Why,  man,  I  am  no  danger 
ous,"  he  went  on,  noticing  not  at  all  that  I  hardly 
knew  whether  to  be  amused  or  indignant  at  this  frank 
personal  comment.  "  Then,"  he  continued,  "ye  began 
to  squint  at  ma  buik,  juist  like  a  preacher  or  a  woman. 
Ye  had  no  business  to,  but  ye  were  so  curious,  ye 
couldna  help  it.  So  I  sized  ye  up.  I  saw  ye  werena 


26  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

a  woman,  and  I  concluded  ye  must  be  a  preacher,  for 
naebody  else  would  act  so  much  like  a  woman.  But 
all  the  same,  I  know  I  am  more  releegious  than  ye." 

I  saw  that  he  thought  he  had  me  at  a  disadvantage, 
and  I  paused  just  a  moment  before  I  said : 

"Well:  what  you  know  you  know,  you  know  you 
know.  But  that  does  not  make  me  know.  Are  you 
absolutely  sure  that  you  know  what  religion  is  ?" 

In  Scotch  fashion  he  came  back  at  me : 

"Sure?  Who  else  would  be  sure,  an'  Iwerena? 
Sure  ?  Yes,  I  am.  There's  two  ways  to  know  whether 
ye  know  or  not.  One  is  the  Bible  way,  and  the  ither 
is  reason's  way,  an'  I  know  both.  I  doot  whether  ye 
know  either,  for  ye  don't  look  as  if  ye  had  much  grip 
o'  things.  Ye  act  as  if  ye'd  been  shaken  up  ower  nicht 
by  somethin'." 

I  made  up  my  mind  I  had  fallen  in  with  an  unusual 
man.  He  had  evidently  read  my  perturbation  at  a 
glance.  I  wondered  if  he  could  also  read  the  cause. 
Wondering  just  what  sort  of  answer  to  make,  he  saved 
me  the  trouble  by  going  on : 

"  Where's  your  church,  anyway  ?  " 

I  knew  he  had  not  changed  the  subject,  by  his 
abrupt  question,  but  was  getting  ready  to  renew  his 
discussion  with  vigor.  So  I  answered  promptly : 

"It  is  at  Greenton,  New  York." 

"  An'  where  micht  that  be  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  might  be  in  the  west  of  the  state,  and  it 
might  be  in  the  south,  and  it  might  be  in  the  center, 
and  it  might  be " 

"  Hoot,  man,"  he  broke  in,  "  ye're  no  such  a  fool  as 
ye  look,  wi'  your  micht  be's  an'  your  micht  be's.  But 
where  is  it  ?  " 

To  have  made  a  point  with  this  queer  traveler  was 


I  MAKE  AX  ACQUAINTANCE  27 

something.  I  knew  I  must  not  lose  it,  so  I  answered 
with  care : 

"  Do  you  know  eastern  New  York,  the  part  away 
up  the  Hudson  River,  between  it  and  Vermont  ? 
Well,  there's  a  lovely  little  city  there  in  the  hills. 
There's  a  beautiful  winding  stream  there,  whose  water 
is  crystal  clear  and  cold.  The  trout  love  it  and  fill  it. 
Sometimes  its  course  is  between  meadow  banks,"  I 
proceeded,  warming  to  my  subject,  "  and  again  at  the 
bottom  of  great  bluffs.  It  tumbles  over  rocks ;  it 
whirls  in  eddies  ;  it  dashes  down  in  cascades  from  high 
terraces.  Greenton  lies  on  one  of  the  bends  of  this 
stream,  which  long  ago  made  it  prosperous  by  its 
water-power." 

He  broke  in  eagerly,  and  his  eyes  were  aglow,  "  Are 
there  trout  there  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  are  trout  there ;  but  a  man  can't  go 
stumbling  along  the  banks  discussing  with  strangers 
about  religion,  and  carrying  a  flap-edged  Bible  in  one 
hand,  and  a  fly  rod  in  the  other,  and  hope  for  a 
rise." 

"  Man,"  he  answered,  "  ye  shouldna  speak  with  dis 
respect  o'  the  Word  o'  God,  and  ye  a  preacher.  It's 
the  cover  that's  flap-edged  ;  it's  na  the  buik." 

I  laughed  to  myself  a  little  over  his  nice  distinction, 
but  I  answered : 

"  All  right,  I  meant  no  disrespect.  There  are  trout 
in  that  river,  and  my  little  church  stands  on  the  edge 
of  one  of  the  high  banks  over  the  river,  and  the  village 
common  lies  out  before  the  church.  I  wish  you  could 
see  the  elm-shaded  streets,  and  the  big  farm- 
wagon  loads  of  people  coming  to  church  on  Sundays, 
and " 

"  I've  heard  enough.     I'll   be  changin'  my  opinion 


28  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

about  ye.  What  do  ye  think  releegion  is,  now,  any 
way  ?  " 

"I  probably  don't  know  enough  about  it  to  answer 
such  a  religious  man.  But  I  will  offer  you  at  random 
a  rather  commonplace  proposition.  Religion  is  every 
day  sense  for  the  every-day  man  about  things  right 
and  good  and  true.  It  is  not  a  fetich  nor  a  scarecrow, 
and  men  who  carry  limp-sided  Bibles  around  openly  in 
public  places  do  not  always  possess  an  overplus  of  it. 
Religion  is  a  real  worth-while  affair.  I  know  there 
are  people  who  do  not  believe  this.  There  is  an  old 
Scotchman " 

"  Hoot,  man ;  I'm  Scotch  masel'.  Ye  needna  be 
tellin'  me  that  ony  Scotchman  doesna  believe  in  re 
leegion.  Every  last  one  o'  them  does.  That's  why 
they're  Scotch." 

I  could  not  help  laughing  outright.  Inclined  to  re 
sent  the  laugh,  my  companion  added : 

"  Ye  laugh.  Do  ye  ken  what  the  Scriptures  say 
aboot  the  cracklin'  o'  thorns  under  a  pot  and  the 
laughter ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know,"  I  burst  in.  "  I  ought  not  to 
have  laughed.  But  when  you  called  the  whole  Scotch 
world  religious  I  felt  a  laugh  inside,  and  it  escaped 
me.  I  will  not  laugh  again." 

"  Oh,  but,  man,  I  found  nae  fault  wi'  your  laughin'. 
I  was  juist  tellin'  ye  what  the  Scriptures  say.  An' 
ye  dinna  believe  my  countrymen  are  releegious  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  I  replied.  "  I  know  every  Scotchman 
believes  in  religion.  But  were  you  not  just  a  bit 
untrue  to  your  countrymen,  when  you  burst  in  and 
stopped  me  from  saying  what  I  wanted  to  when  I 
began  '  There's  an  old  Scotchman '  ?  A  real  Scotch 
man  would  have  waited  to  hear." 


I  MAKE  AN  ACQUAINTANCE  29 

Whereupon  he  made  another  unscotch  reply. 

"  Oh,  I'll  have  to  give  in  to  ye.  What  was  ye 
goin'  to  say  ?  " 

"  Well,"  I  resumed,  "  there's  an  old  Scotchman  in 
Greenton  who  is  the  most  religious-talking-and-believ- 
ing  man  I  know.  To  keep  him  away  from  church  on 
Sundays  is  absolutely  impossible.  To  keep  him  away 
from  prayer-meeting  is  just  as  hard ;  but  to  keep  him 
away  from  Bob's  tavern  is  harder  still.  And  the  man 
who  mixes  the  church  and  the  tavern  in  that  way 
doesn't  seem  to  me  to  have  that  every-day  sense  in 
things  righteous." 

I  was  not  in  the  least  prepared  for  the  reply  that 
came.  As  skillfully  as  an  angler  ever  cast  a  fly  he 
threw  out  at  me  a  mixture  of  humor,  and  Scripture, 
and  that  sort  of  indirect  argument  the  Scotch  love  so 
well. 

"  But,  man,  how  can  a  Scotchman  keep  awa'  from 
a  tavern  ?  An'  doesna  the  Buik  say  the  good  Samari 
tan  went  to  an  inn  ?  What's  an  inn  but  a.  tavern  ? 
An'  didna  he  pour  in  oil  and  wine  ?  Where  did  he  pour 
the  wine,  now  ?  Where  could  he  pour  it,  except  into 
the  man's  mouth  ?  Ye  see,  the  Scotchman  who  goes 
to  a  tavern,  an'  pours  in  wine,  is  followin'  the  example 
o'  the  good  Samaritan.  An'  didna  the  Maister  say, 
'  Go  an'  do  likewise '  ?  " 

I  rose  to  the  cast.  Before  I  ended  my  reply,  I 
knew  he  was  chuckling  in  glee. 

"  So  you  think  a  man  is  religious,  who  mixes  church 
and  tavern  :  one  day  church  to  six  days  tavern,  or  per 
haps  seven  days  tavern.  Would  you  like  to  have  your 
elder  and  your  preacher  go  to  the  tavern  together,  on 
a  Sunday  morning  before  church  ?  " 

"  An'  why  not  ?     The  elder  and  preacher  who  canna 


30  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

tak'  a  wee  drop  thegither  before  the  sairmon,  will  be 
at  variance  wi'  each  ither."  I  noticed  that  as  his  in 
terest  grew,  his  tongue  slipped  more  and  more  into  the 
Scotch  vernacular.  "  An'  that  is  contrairy  to  Scrip 
ture.  Doesna  the  Psalmist  say,  'Behold,  how  guid 
and  pleasant  a  thing  it  is,  for  brethren  to  dwell  the 
gither  in  unity,'  an'  there  canna  be  ony  unity  if  the 
elder  tak's  his  drop,  an'  the  preacher  willna." 

But  this  time  I  saw  that  he  believed  he  had  gotten 
an  advantage  of  me  which  would  enable  him  to  have 
his  little  sport,  and  leave  me  at  the  end  helplessly  out 
done  in  the  argument.  And  I  had  no  purpose  to  be 
broken  down  in  any  such  way.  So  I  returned  to  my 
first  proposition,  that  religion  is  an  every-day  thing, 
and  for  illustration  took  my  old  Scotchman  again. 

"  There's  Jamie  MacNaughton,  of  whom  I  wanted 
to  speak.  He  scouts  the  idea  of  every-dayness  in 
religion.  He  says  plainly,  'I  got  releegion  in  the 
auld  country  when  I  was  a  laddie,  an'  I've  had  it  ever 
sine,  but  it  is  far  too  fine  a  thing  to  be  carried  around 
ilka  day.  Do  you  suppose  I'd  wear  ma  "  blacks  "  ilka 
day  ?  I  want  ma  releegion  to  be  like  them — wi'oot 
spot,  or  wrinkle,  or  ony  sic'  thing.  Sunday's  the  day 
for  releegion.'  " 

"  I'd  like  to  know  that  man,"  said  my  companion. 

I  paid  no  heed,  but  went  right  on. 

"  Let  me  protest  against  the  whole  line  of  thought 
represented  by  the  phrase,  'get  religion.'  A  man 
never  gets  religion  ;  religion  gets  a  man  :  and  if  once  it 
gets  him  with  a  good  tight  grip,  it  keeps  him  out  of 
taverns.  I  tell  you  again,  religion  is  every-day  sense 
for  the  every-day  man." 

My  fellow-traveler  was  growing  impatient.  He 
evidently  had  his  own  notions  on  this  subject,  and  he 


I  MAKE  AN  ACQUAINTANCE  31 

had  asked  me  the  question,  expecting  me  to  say  I  did 
not  know  just  what  religion  was,  and  then  he  had 
intended  to  tell  me.  But  he  had  given  me  an  oppor 
tunity,  and  I  meant  he  should  hear  my  ideas.  So,  in 
spite  of  his  uneasiness,  I  continued  : 

"  I  know  men  who  are  religious.  Here's  a  man 
who  has  never  made  a  speech,  or  a  prayer  in  a  prayer- 
meeting,  but  the  berries  he  sells  are  as  large  at  the 
middle  and  the  bottom  of  his  baskets  as  at  the  top, 
and  he  is  never  known  to  give  short  weight  in  grain. 
He  sells  milk  in  Greenton,  and  no  housekeeper  ever 
found  a  live  trout  in  a  milk-pan.  People  say  he  is  a 
good  moral  man,  but  not  religious.  I  think  it  is  a 
question  of  definition.  He  certainly  turns  out  a  very 
good  article  of  life." 

That  gave  Henderson  his  chance.  "  There  :  noo  I 
have  ye.  Ye're  a  Unitarian.  Ye  mix  your  morals 
an'  releegion  so  ye  canna  tell  hither  from  yon.  How 
can  a  man  be  releegious  when  he's  only  moral  ?  " 

"  Who  said  he  was  only  moral  ?  As  for  mixing 
morals  and  religion,  they  mix  better  than  religion  and 
whiskey.  I  said  people  say  he  is  a  good  moral  man, 
but  not  religious  :  and  /  say  he  is  both.  Your  man 
who  calls  himself  religious,  and  who  is  immoral,  is  the 
one  I  am  after." 

"  Ah,  you  mean  that  Scotchman  MacNaughton  ? " 

"Yes,  I  mean  MacNaughton,  and  I  mean  you  if  you 
belong  in  that  class.  You  say  you  want  to  know  my 
idea  of  religion.  I'll  give  it  to  you.  There  is  a  man  in 
Greenton  who  will  not  come  to  church  to  hear  me 
preach,  but  he  does  love  to  have  me  drop  into  his 
office,  to  sit  there  and  talk,  over  a  pan  of  nuts  or 
apples.  No,  not  cigars,"  seeing  he  was  about  to  in 
terrupt  with  a  question;  "he  never  smokes.  About 


32  THE  MAID  OF  HONOll 

the  only  subject  he  will  talk  freely  on  is  religion; 
sometimes  he  brings  in  politics,  but  I  am  no  politician. 
I  suppose  he  has  quoted  to  me  a  hundred  times  the 
text,  '  pure  religion  and  undefiled  before  God  even  the 
Father,  is  this :  to  visit  the  fatherless  and  widows  in 
their  affliction,  and  to  keep  himself  unspotted  from  the 
world.'  He  will  look  nie  squarely  in  the  face  and 
say,  '  If  that  is  religion,  then  I  am  religious,  more 
religious  than  your  whole  church.' ': 

"Hoot,  man,"  broke  in  the  Scotchman,  "that's  Scrip 
ture.  That's  Bible — an'  what's  more,  it's  na  quoted 
richt.  Ton's  figurative.  It's  no  intended  for  a  stand 
ard.  Ton's  only  a  definition,  an',  man,  ye  canna  live 
a  definition." 

"  Well,  I  see  there's  no  use  in  trying  to  tell  you  ray 
thought  about  religion.  There's  more  nonsense  going 
on  the  subject  than  you  or  I  can  ever  upset.  There's 
a  deal  of  religious  profession  that  is  sham,"  I  finished 
warmly.  "  It  talks  one  way,  and  acts  another." 

"  Now,  there  ye  show  that  ye  dinna  ken  what  real 
releegion  is,  though  ye  are  a  preacher.  I'm  goin'  to 
enlighten  your  ignorance.  Eeleegion  is  belief ;  it  isna 
acts;  it's  believin'  the  doctrines.  Eeleegion  is  believin' 
what  the  catechism  tells  you  to  believe,  whether  ye  do 
or  no." 

Then  I  broke  my  promise.  I  laughed.  Laughed 
without  attempt  at  restraint.  He  was  so  earnest,  so 
far  away  from  me  in  practical  thought,  and  withal  so 
absurd. 

Then  he  spoke.  With  just  the  least  sign  of  emotion 
in  his  voice,  "  Man !  ye  promised  ye  wouldna  be 
laughin'  at  God's  word." 

And  taking  up  his  form  of  expression,  I  said, 
"  Man !  I  promised.  And  I'm.  not  laughing  at  God's 


I  MAKE  AN  ACQUAINTANCE  33 

word.  I'm  laughing  at  your  words."  Then  I  tried 
another  tack. 

"  See  here,  friend ;  let  me  tell  you  what  religion 
does  not  do,  if  you  will  not  accept  what  I  say  it  is. 
Religion  does  not  steal,  nor  swear,  nor  cheat,  nor  lie, 
nor  defame  life,  nor  debauch  virtue,  nor  set  wrong 
example,  nor  gamble,  nor  drink  to  drunkenness, 
nor " 

With  an  imperious  wave  of  his  hand  he  abruptly 
interrupted : 

"  There  ye  go  again  vvi'  your  things  not  to  do.  It 
makes  nae  difference  whether  ye  make  releegion  con 
sist  in  things  done,  or  in  things  not  done.  Didna  the 
Apostle  Paul  say,  'By  the  deeds  of  the  law  shall  no 
flesh  be  justified'?  He  micht  with  equal  sense  hae 
said,  '  By  the  undeeds  of  the  law  shall  no  flesh  be 
justified.'  An'  how  can  a  man  not  justified  be  re- 
leegious  ?  " 

The  train  had  almost  reached  Jersey  City.  The 
Scotchman  had  accomplished  two  things:  taken  my 
mind  utterly  away  from  my  recent  experiences,  and 
convinced  me  as  to  his  own  character.  After  a  mo 
ment's  pause  I  said  : 

"  My  friend,  we'll  be  separating  soon,  and  we  shall 
never  meet  again.  But  I'll  give  you  a  definition  of 
religion  that  I  hope  you'll  remember  as  long  as  I  shall 
remember  the  one  you  have  given  me :  Religion  is 
the  soul  of  man  seeking  the  life  of  God.  I  think  on 
that  definition,  I  am  more  religious  than  you.  For  I 
am  seeking  that  life,  while  you  are  probably  living 
any  sort  of  life  that  happens  to  please  you,  and  satis 
fying  yourself  with  yourself  by  believing  every  doc 
trine  of  the  Church." 

"  Never  meet  again,  is  it  ?  "  came  his  reply.     "  Do  I 


34  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

look  like  a  man  that  never  meets  again  ?  I  always 
meet  again.  An'  I'll  remember  your  definition  until 
my  deein'  day,  it's  so  absurd.  But  I'm  glad  ye  dropped 
into  this  seat,  man.  I'll  be  glad  to  kno\v  ye.  What 
would  your  name  be  ?  " 

I  gave  him  my  name.  I  thought  he  started  as  if 
surprised ;  but  he  only  said,  "  Is  that  so  ?  That's  a 
— guid  name." 

"  And  what  is  your  name  ?  "  I  asked. 

"David  Henderson.  I  live  in  Duqueboro,  Pa.  I'm 
elder  in  the  Kir  Jear  Presbyterian  Church  there.  I 
shall  be  glad  to  see  ye  in  ma  house.  But  don't  forget 
—I  know  what  releegion  is." 

He  crossed  the  river  by  the  Cortlandt  ferry  and  I 
saw  him  no  more,  but  he  left  with  me  the  memory  of 
the  most  unique  conversation  of  my  whole  life.  "When 
he  was  gone,  there  came  an  irresistible  desire  to  see 
once  more  that  maid  of  honor.  I  hoped  she  would 
cross  the  river  with  me  by  the  Desbrosses  street  ferry. 
But  she  was  not  to  be  seen.  I  looked  in  vain.  Whether 
her  journey  had  ended  at  Trenton  or  Newark,  I  did 
not  know.  But  it  had  ended,  and  whither  she  had 
gone,  and  where  she  lived,  I  did  not  know. 


Ill 

A  LETTER  FROM  NEW  ORLEANS 

TIM  WENDELL  and  I  had  been  walking  for 
nearly  two  hours  on  the  hills  above  Green- 
ton,  enjoying  a  lovely  October  afternoon. 
The  autumn  foliage  was  superb,  and  Tim  had  stopped 
again  and  again  to  look  at  the  near  glory  and  the 
distant  beauty  of  the  forests.  At  last  he  said,  "  Domi 
nie,  they  say  I  am  an  infidel :  that  I  do  not  believe 
in  God.  Look  yonder,"  he  pointed  to  the  expanse 
stretching  away  westward  to  the  Northumberland 
hills.  "  Can  any  man  see  such  a  sight  and  deny  that 
God  is  ?  The  Eternal  needs  no  little  human  voice  to 
prove  His  being.  This  outsweep  proves  Him  working, 
working,  ever  working.  It  is  your  men,  who  say  He 
stopped  His  work  some  seventh  day  ages  ago,  that  are 
denying  Him." 

"Tim,"  I  answered,  "  I'm  glad  to  hear  that  speech. 
It  shows  your  heart  right,  no  matter  where  your 
head  is." 

"  Head,  Dominie  ?  heart  ?  Is  that  where  you  are  ?  " 
He  spoke  with  great  feeling.  "  I've  known  you  since 
you  were  a  boy.  It  is  strange  you  are  the  only  one 
who  comprehends  me  at  all,  you  and  that  commercial 
man,  Joe  Smith.  Now  here  you  go,  making  division 
between  head  and  heart.  Dominie,  look  at  this."  He 
plucked  a  beautiful  maple  leaf,  all  afire  from  the 
autumn  conflagration.  "  Look  at  it.  Can  man  do 
that  ?  My  head  says,  '  No,  only  God  can  ' ;  and  my 

35 


36  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

heart  sings  in  the  night  because  this  is  the  token  of 
His  love  for  me.  Don't  ever  put  rny  head  and  heart 
apart  again." 

"  That's  a  great  confession  of  faith,  Tim.  You 
ought  to  unite  with  the  church." 

"What,  Dominie!  and  be  one  with  your  elder 
Harfis,  and  your  new  convert  Hobart?  A  closer, 
meaner,  dirty-dollar  lover  than  Harfis  does  not  live. 
You  know  that.  And  Hobart  joined  your  church 
because,  having  become  newly  rich,  he  wanted  social 
position  which  he  could  get  in  no  other  way.  Join 
ing  the  church  don't  count,  Dominie ;  it  don't  count." 

I  saw  that  line  of  talk  had  gone  far  enough,  and  I 
changed  the  subject  abruptly  : 

"  Tim,  I  want  to  drop  this  personal  line,  and  tell 
you  a  story." 

"  All  right,"  he  answered.     "  I'll  listen." 

Then  I  told  him  of  my  meeting  and  talking  with 
Henderson  on  the  train.  When  I  had  finished,  Tim 
said,  "Dominie,  that  man  was  playing  you.  He  did 
not  believe  a  word  of  what  he  said.  He's  uncertain 
about  himself,  and  he  was  drawing  you  out,  hoping 
for  something  he  could  use  for  his  own  good." 

"  Oh,  that  can't  be,  Tim.  He  was  too  dogmatic, 
too  positive  for  that." 

"  Don't  you  know  a  Scotchman  yet  ?  Why,  Jim- 
mie  MacNaughton  will  be  most  positive  in  mood  when 
he's  most  negative  in  mind.  If  I  mistake  not,  you'll 
hear  from  that  Scotchman  yet.  You'll  hear  him  quote 
your  own  definition  of  religion  yet,  as  if  it  were  his.. 
It  was  fine,  Dominie,  very  fine,  but  it  can't  touch 
mine,  you  know.  Mine  is  the  greatest  in  the  world." 

"  Yes,  Tim,  I  agree.  It  is  the  very  greatest  in  the 
world."  We  parted  presently  at  my  own  home  gate. 


A  LETTER  FROM  NEW  ORLEANS    37 

That  night  I  received  a  letter  written  from,  the 
St.  Charles  Hotel,  New  Orleans.  It  ran : 

"My  DEAR  PREACHER: 

"  I  met  a  man  last  night  who  is  as  queer  as  you 
are,  and  who  says  he  knows  you.  The  head-waiter 
gave  him  a  seat  at  my  table,  and  before  I  gave  any 
sign  that  conversation  would  be  agreeable,  he  broke  out 
in  a  loud  voice, '  Good  evenin' ;  commercial  man,  I  see.' 

"'Who  told  you  so?'  I  asked.  'Nobody.  I 
guessed.  Hit  it  right,  didn't  I  ?  '  '  No,  you  didn't,' 
I  said,  'and  you're  impertinent  and  a  Yankee.' 
'No  offense,  now,'  said  he,  'no  offense.  But  if  I'm  a 
Yankee,  you're  a  wizard.  What  made  you  know  I 
was  a  Yankee  ? '  '  Because  you  said  "  guessed,"  '  I 
answered.  '  No  one  but  a  Yankee  says  "  guess " 
•when  he  jumps  at  a  conclusion.  Why  did  you  take 
me  for  a  commercial  traveler?'  His  answer  started 
a  talk  that  lasted  long  after  we  had  gone  to  the 
veranda  with  our  cigars.  It  drifted  on  until  it  struck  on 
church  membership,  and  the  insincerity  of  Christian 
people,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 

"  There  was  a  man  sitting  by  who  seemed  to  be 
listening.  He  couldn't  help  hearing,  for  the  Yankee 
had  a  voice  like  a  fog-horn.  I  said,  '  See  here,  man, 
you're  all  wrong.  Church  members  are  the  salt  of 
the  earth  ;  the  Scripture  says  so.' 

"  '  Oh,  you  make  me  tired,'  he  said.  "  I  know  church 
members  from  Casco  Bay  to  the  Rio  Grande,  and  if 
they  are  the  salt  of  the  earth,  they've  lost  their  savor. 
You  see  I  know  some  Scripture  myself.' 

" '  I  am  sorry  for  you.  I  wouldn't  have  so  poor 
an  opinion  of  men  as  they  run  as  you  seem  to  have,' 
I  answered. 


38  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  '  Oh,  you  needn't  waste  your  sorrow  on  me.  I've 
not  a  poor  opinion  of  men  as  they  run.  It  is  the  men 
who  pose  of  whom.  I  have  a  poor  opinion.  The 
general  run  of  men  don't  profess  anything,  and  they 
live  up  to  what  they  don't  profess.  The  man  I'm 
after  is  your  church  member  who  professes  a  lot,  and 
does  not  practice  a  little.  But  I  do  know  two 
religious  men.' 

" '  Well,  what  about  them  ? '  I  said.  The  man  sitting 
by  was  becoming  interested.  He  moved  a  little 
nearer.  The  man  went  on :  '  One  is  a  preacher,  and 
he  goes  to  church  of  course.  The  other  belongs  to  no 
church,  and  won't  go  to  church  at  all,  but  he  puts  up 
a  good  square  article  of  life  all  the  time.  The  church 
people  call  him  an  infidel.'  'Where  does  that 
preacher  live  ?  '  I  said.  '  Oh,  up  in  Greenton,  New 
York.'  '  What's  his  name  ?  Is  he  a  Presbyterian  ? ' 
4  Yes  ,  he  is  a  Presbyterian,'  he  answered,  and  then  he 
gave  your  name.  *  I  thought  so,'  said  I ;  '  I  know  him.' 
Then  the  man  sitting  by  spoke  up:  'Pardon  me, 
gentlemen ;  I  have  been  overhearing  your  conversa 
tion  ;  probably  I  should  not,  but  I  was  interested,  and 
I  am  rather  glad  I  heard,  for  the  name  that  has  just 
been  given  is  the  name  of  a  man  I  have  met,  and  I 
think  what  you  say  is  true.'  Then  the  Yankee  jumped 
up,  and,  standing  before  the  man  sitting  by,  said, 
'  True  ?  You  bet  it's  true.  But  what  a  little  world 
this  is.  You  two  men  both  know  my  preacher. 
Well:  you  know  a  good  fellow.  He's  just  like  the 
sample  all  the  way  through.' 

"  '  Is  he  a  good  preacher  ?  '  I  said.  '  Well,  no,  can't 
say  he  is.  He's  young,  you  see.  Thinks  he  knows 
it  all.  But  he  don't  know  much  about  life  such  as 
fellows  like  me  lead.  But  he's  white,  and  he's  dead 


A  LETTER  FROM  NEW  ORLEANS    39 

earnest  about  his  religion.  Whenever  I  go  to  Green- 
ton  I  go  to  church ;  not  because  of  what  I  expect  to 
hear,  but  because  of  what  I  know  of  him.  I  was  in 
college  with  him  Freshman  year.  Freshmen  don't 
count  much,  as  a  rule.  But  he  did.  He  was  the 
squarest  man  in  the  whole  college  outfit.' 

"  '  Is  the  other  man  you  spoke  about  all  the  time 
talking  about  pure  religion  and  undefiled,  and  visiting 
the  fatherless  and  widows?'  said  I. 

"  f  Yes  :  how  did  you  know  him  ? ' 

"  '  I  don't  know  him.  But  I  know  the  preacher,  and 
he  has  told  me  about  this  "  pure  religion "  man.' 
Then  the  man  sitting  by  said,  '  Gentlemen,  I  think 
we  ought  to  be  acquainted.  Would  you  object  to 
giving  me  your  names  ?  My  name  is  William  Wayne 
Lorraine,  and  I  am  from  Richmond,  Virginia.' 

"  Then  I  said,  '  My  name  is  David  Henderson,  and  I 
am  from  Duqueboro,  Pennsylvania.'  Then  the  Yankee 
said,  '  I  can't  match  you,  gentlemen.  Lorraine's 
French,  and  Henderson's  Scotch  ;  but  my  name's  plain 
Smith :  Joe  Smith  :  and  Smith's  all  creation,  and  I 
come  from  the  best  town  on  the  map.  I'm  from 
Boston.' 

"  We  ought  to  have  parted  then,  but  Joe  Smith 
went  on  talking  about  church  members,  and  he  said 
finally,  '  A  church  member  has  no  business  to  swear, 
and  drink,  and  play  poker.' 

" '  What's  the  harm  with  a  man  doing  such  things 
in  a  moderate,  temperate,  Christian  way  ?  '  I  said. 

"  '  Are  you  a  church  member  ? '  he  came  back  at  me. 

"  '  Yes,  and  I  am  an  elder,  too.' 

" '  And  do  you  do  such  things  ?  If  you  do, 
you're  another  hypocrite,  and  I'd  better  stop  where  I 
am.' 


40  THE  MAID  OF  HOXOR 

"  '  Oh,  no,'  I  said.  '  Go  on.  You  can't  make  it  any 
worse.  Go  on.'  But  as  I  said  that,  I  heard  Mr.  Lor 
raine  yawn,  and  I  concluded  to  stop  the  talk.  So  before 
the  Yankee  could  answer,  I  said,  '  No,  don't  go  on.  I 
have  an  engagement  early  to-morrow  for  a  client,  a 
young  Episcopal  clergyman  of  Paoli,  Pa.  He  loaned 
some  money  in  Texas  on  a  wildcat  land  scheme,  and  I 
must  go  to  Galveston  to  look  after  it.  So  I'll  have  to 
go  to  bed.' 

" '  Episcopal  clergyman  ?  Paoli  ?  Is  his  name 
Henry  Sinclair  ? '  said  Mr.  Lorraine.  '  Yes,'  said  I. 
'  Do  you  know  him  ?  '  'A  little,'  he  said.  '  He's  my 
son-in-law.  It  was  at  his  wedding,  about  a  month 
ago,  I  met  the  Greenton  preacher.  He  was  Sinclair's 
best  man.  Can't  I  have  a  part  in  this  business  affair  ? ' 
There  was  no  objection  to  that,  and  Lorraine  is  going 
with  me  to  Galveston. 

"  So  you  see,  preacher,  I  am  getting  wound  up 
slowly  on  the  same  spool  with  you.  What  it  is  all  for 
I  do  not  in  the  least  know.  But  I  am  a  Presbyterian, 
and  believe  the  doctrines,  and  there's  foreordination 
about  it  somewhere.  I  don't  know  as  I  am  your  friend 
yet,  but  perhaps  I  shall  be.  I  don't  know  yet  how 
foreordination  will  work. 

"  DAVID  HENDEKSON." 

At  supper  that  night  I  told  my  mother  of  the  letter. 
How  strange  it  seemed  that  the  chance  acquaintance 
of  a  railway  train  had  suddenly  come  into  intimate 
touch  with  my  life.  He  had  met  Joe  Smith  :  he  knew 
Mr.  Lorraine  and  Harry.  Had  he  written  he  knew 
the  maid  of  honor,  I  should  not  have  been  surprised. 

I  went  over  to  Tim  "Wendell's  office  after  supper, 
and  read  the  letter  to  him.  It  interested  him  greatly. 


A  LETTER  FROM  NEW  ORLEANS    41 

"  I  knew  you'd  hear  from  him,"  he  said  when  the 
reading  was  done.  "  I  didn't  expect  to  be  mixed  up 
in  it,  though.  It  begins  to  look  a  little  as  though  his 
life  thread,  Joe's,  yours,  and  mine  might  be  woven 
into  some  pattern  in  a  common  fabric." 

"  That's  so,  Tim.  Do  you  really  think  I'll  ever  see 
him  again,  or  that  you'll  ever  see  him  ?  " 

"  Sure :  he'll  drop  down  here  some  day." 


IV 

A  HOPELESS  CASE 

FOR  the  third  time  in  my  two  years'  pastorate, 
I  had  paid  Jim  Garvey's  fine  for  petty  thieving. 
Jim  was  a  well-known  figure  in  Greenton.  For 
ten  years  there  had  been  no  baseball  game  played  by 
the  Greenton  City  Stars,  in  which  he  had  not  figured 
as  Aquarius.  In  my  own  experience  on  the  diamond, 
before  going  to  college,  and  during  the  vacations  of 
my  undergraduate  and  seminary  life,  he  had  given  me 
numberless  cups  of  cold  water,  but  never  one  in  the 
name  of  a  disciple.  An  undersized  boy  of  eleven,  he 
had  appeared  suddenly  on  the  ball-grounds,  coming 
from  no  one  knew  where,  carrying  water  for  the 
players,  who  tossed  him  pennies. 

I  was  only  fifteen  myself  then,  and  had  gone  up  to 
him,  boylike,  asking  : 

"  "What's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Jim,"  he  had  answered. 

"  Jim  what  ?  " 

"  Jim  nothin',  I  guess.  What  business  is  it  o' 
your'n  ? "  and  the  profanity  which  followed  would 
have  done  credit  to  a  professional. 

Red-haired,  bare-footed,  he  was  made  grotesque  to 
the  extreme  by  the  evidently  cast-off  garments  which 
he  wore, — trousers  turned  up  because  too  long,  a  blue 
swallow-tailed  coat  with  smooth,  flat  brass  buttons, 
and  a  straw  hat  whose  top,  half  severed  from  the 
crown,  flapped  up  and  down  like  a  loose  lid,  while 

42 


A  HOPELESS  CASE  43 

through  the  rift  his  shock  of  red  hair  stuck  out  in  all 
directions. 

The  baseball  aggregation  was  never  of  high  moral 
order.  Some  of  its  men  helped  on  Jim's  profanity  by 
their  own.  By  the  pennies  which  they  tossed  him, 
they  taught  him  how  to  spend  money  freely  for  tobacco 
and  for  beer,  and  throughout  his  career  tobacco  and 
profanity  had  been  his  most  striking  characteristics. 

In  one  of  my  college  vacations,  after  I  had  become 
quite  an  important  member  of  the  nine,  I  had  under 
taken  to  fathom  the  character  of  this  bit  of  human 
flotsam  and  jetsam.  Whether  or  not  his  shambling, 
unkempt,  poiseless  figure  was  the  domicile  of  an  im 
mortal  soul,  was  matter  for  question.  Because  I  be 
lieved  that  there  is  no  form  of  animated  life  that  will 
not  respond  to  kindness,  I  decided  to  cultivate  Jim 
along  the  line  of  kind  helpfulness,  and  as  my  first  move 
toward  his  salvation,  secured  him  a  place  in  a  shop 
where  drop-forgings  were  made.  Here  for  a  while  he 
worked  with  alert  dexterity.  He  was  then  fifteen 
years  old. 

"  Jim,"  I  asked  him  one  day,  "  who's  your  father  ?  " 

"Ain't  got  none." 

"  Who  was  your  father  ?  " 

"  Never  had  none." 

"  Where  did  you  get  your  name  ?  " 

"  Schoolmarm  giv'  'er  to  me." 

"  How  was  that  ?  " 

"  Went  to  school ;  'er  asked  me  my  name.  Tole  'er 
Jim.  '  Jim  what  ?' sez  she.  '  Jimnothin','  sezl.  Then 
'er  writ  down  a  name.  'Er  turned  to  the  school  kids, 
an'  'er  sez,  '  Children,  this  is  James  Garvey.'  '  Ain't 
nuther,'  sez  I.  « I'm  Jim.  That's  all  I  be.'  But  them 
kids  called  me  Garvey.  I  licked  one  of  'em  for  it,  but 


44  THE  MAID  OF  HOXOR 

it  didn't  do  no  good.  Schoolmarm  kept  callin'  me 
that.  I  couldn't  fight  the  schoolmarm." 

"  Why  couldn't  you,  Jim  ?  "  I  said. 

"  'Cos  ;  she's  a  woman,"  he  answered.  "  Think  I'd 
fight  a  woman  ?  I'd  'a'  licked  any  feller  tried  to 
fight  'er." 

"  Jim,  you're  a  kind  of  gentleman.  Do  you  know 
it?" 

"  Shoot  'er,  I  ain't  no  swell  toggler.     I'm  Jim." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  be  when  you  grow  up, 
Jim?" 

"  Bum,  or  cop.     Don'  know  which." 

"  What  would  you  do  if  you  were  a  bum  ?  " 

"  I'd  steal,  and  dodge  the  cops." 

"  What  would  you  do  if  you  were  a  policeman  ?  " 

"I'd  run  the  bums  and  crooks  into  the  cooler." 

"  Why  don't  you  work  ;  save  money  ;  begin  to  be  a 
man,  Jim  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  and  he  poured  out  an  appalling  torrent  of 
profanity,  "  I'd  ruther  carry  water  for  the  '  Stars.' " 

It  was  not  long  before  the  factory  work  palled, 
through  lack  of  excitement,  and  Jim  fell  back  into 
the  thieving  life  that  he  had  begun  when,  as  a  little 
boy,  he  had  stolen  fruit  from  gardens.  Now  it  was 
old  iron  which  he  stole  from  the  shops  about  the  city, 
and  sold  to  the  foundry.  When  I  had  finished  the 
seminary,  the  thieving  mania  was  firmly  fixed  upon 
him,  and  he  was  as  nearly  a  complete  moral  degenerate 
as  I  have  ever  known.  Three  times  he  had  stood  before 
Justice  Wendell,  and  each  time  Tim  had  let  him  off 
with  a  fine.  True  to  my  role  of  philanthropist,  hoping 
still  to  save  the  poor  fellow,  I  had  on  each  occasion 
paid  the  fine. 

It  was  on  the  night  of  the  last  of  these  performances 


A  HOPELESS  CASE  45 

that  Wendell  carae  into  my  study  in  a  thoroughly  dis 
gusted  frame  of  mind. 

"  Dominie,"  he  said,  "  I  know  your  game,  but  you'll 
lose.  If  you  win,  you'll  lose.  You're  playing  some 
thing  against  nothing.  If  you  take  every  trick  there'll 
be  no  count,  for  you'll  find  the  cards  that  blackguard 
plays  are  blanks.  He's  working  you.  You're  smart 
about  everything  else.  I  was  over  at  Bob's  to-night. 
The  bums  in  the  bar-room  were  all  laughing  at  your 
act  this  afternoon.  I  came  in  to  get  you  to  promise  to 
stop." 

"  Tim,"  I  said,  "  that  boy's  got  something  in  him 
somewhere  that's  worth  getting  out.  I  can't  drop  him. 
I'm  the  only  friend  he  has." 

"  Well,  Dominie,  I'll  tell  you  what  will  happen.  You 
are  encouraging  him  in  crime  now,  and  if  he  becomes 
a  bad  criminal  you  will  have  part  of  the  blame  in  this 
community.  And  some  day  he  will  hit  you  hard." 

That  night  there  was  a  fire.  A  tall  brick  block  that 
stood  close  to  the  sidewalk  burned.  There  were  stores 
below,  and  apartments  above.  Great  efforts  were 
necessary  to  rescue  the  roomers.  At  last,  when  it  was 
supposed  that  everyone  was  safe,  there  came  a  fearful 
cry,  and  a  woman  with  a  baby  appeared  at  a  top  story 
front  window.  The  interior  of  the  room  was  not  yet 
aflame,  but  the  whole  rear  of  the  house  was  blazing, 
so  that  escape  by  the  stairs  was  impossible.  There 
was  no  ladder  long  enough  to  reach  the  window,  and 
the  heat  was  so  intense  that  no  one  could  stand  within 
fifty  feet  of  the  doomed  block.  Half  a  block  away 
firemen  were  trying  to  lash  two  ladders  together,  but, 
"  If  they  do  it,"  said  Tim,  "  they  can't  get  in  there  to 
set  it  up,  and  the  woman'll  burn  to  death  before  they 
can  reach  her," 


46  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

The  rear  wall  fell  in  with  a  crash  ;  the  flames  leaped 
up  behind  the  wildly  shrieking  woman. 

"My  baby!  oh,  my  baby!  For  God's  love  save 
my  baby  !  "  Out  over  the  still  town  rang  that  heart 
rending  cry,  while  she  strained  the  child  to  her  bosom 
and  the  flames  were  breaking  into  that  last  room. 

Suddenly,  a  man  with  a  short  ladder  on  his  shoulder, 
and  a  coil  of  rope  about  his  neck,  was  seen  going  up 
the  telegraph  pole  before  the  ruin.  He  was  handi 
capped  by  his  burden,  and  the  heat  was  blasting,  but 
he  climbed  with  strength  and  agility.  "  Turn  the  hose 
on  me,  can't  ye  ?  "  he  cried  with  an  oath,  "  and  wet  me 
rope !  "  It  was  promptly  done.  Up  he  went  through 
the  scorching  air,  oblivious,  after  the  water  struck 
him,  to  everything  but  his  purpose.  At  last  he  reached 
the  top.  Once  there,  it  was  the  work  of  a  moment  to 
lash  the  ladder  to  the  crosstree  of  the  pole,  keeping  it 
all  the  while  raised  above  him  in  the  air,  and  to  let  it 
down  upon  the  sill  of  the  woman's  window.  Over 
this  bridge  he  went,  and,  with  his  rope,  let  down  to 
safety  first  the  baby,  then  its  mother.  Then  back  across 
the  ladder  bridge,  and  down  the  pole  to  solid  earth. 
The  flames  glared  against  the  dark ;  the  crowd  cheered 
like  a  mob  of  madmen — and  no  Avonder,  for  the  man 
who  had  done  this  marvelous  thing  was  Jim  Garvey,  my 
drunken  loafer,  transformed  for  the  time  into  a  hero. 

How  that  vagabond  could  conceive  such  a  plan,  and 
carry  it  out  so  steadily  and  so  coolly,  was  to  me  a  won 
der.  But  it  confirmed  what  I  had  always  believed, 
that  there  was  something  worth  while  about  Jim  Gar 
vey,  if  only  he  could  be  rescued  from  present  tenden 
cies  and  given  a  chance  for  development. 

"  What  did  I  tell  you,  Tim  ?  "  I  demanded  trium 
phantly  of  my  companion. 


A  HOPELESS  CASE  4T 

"  All  right,  Dominie  ;  but  he's  a  freak.  That  was  a 
brave  and  brainy  act,  but  he's  a  freak.  He'll  undo 
that  within  a  week." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,  Wendell,"  I  said.  "  And  I'm 
going  to  keep  him  away  from  the  toughs  and  not  let 
them  get  him  drunk  to-night." 

"He's  probably  drunk  now,"  was  the  skeptical 
reply. 

I  hurried  into  the  crowd  to  find  Garvey.  I  was  just 
in  time  to  prevent  him  from  going  off  with  a  gang  to 
Bob's.  I  caught  hold  of  his  arm. 

"  Jim,"  I  said,  "  that  was  the  finest  thing  I  ever 
saw.  How  did  you  happen  to  do  it  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  d'no,"  he  answered.  "I  never  had  no 
chance  for  nothin'  afore.  I  seen  dis  one.  I  took  'er." 

My  arm  had  gone  through  Jim's,  and  I  had  begun 
to  walk  through  the  crowd  with  him,  questioning 
him  and  talking  with  him  all  the  while.  Jim  had 
no  sort  of  regard  for  me  as  a  preacher,  but  un 
bounded  admiration  of  my  ability  to  play  baseball. 
So  he  allowed  me  to  lead  him  along  toward  my  house. 
When  we  reached  there  and  I  started  to  take  him  in, 
he  demurred.  "  It's  late,"  I  urged  ;  "  you  did  a  nerve- 
racking  thing,  and  I'm  going  to  give  you  some  hot 
coffee  and  a  bite  to  eat."  That  made  him  yield.  I 
put  him  down  into  the  "  Sleepy  Hollow  "  rocker  in 
my  study,  and  went  out  to  do  my  old  college  trick  of 
making  hot  coffee.  But  when,  after  perhaps  fifteen 
minutes,  I  returned  with  the  viands,  the  study  was 
empty.  Jim  had  gone. 

I  was  greatly  chagrined.  Jim  had  quite  baffled  me. 
He  would  surely  be  drunk  before  morning.  I  took 
the  coffee  and  the  bread  and  butter  back  to  the 
dining-room,  drank  Jim's  coffee,  and  went  to  bed. 


48  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

Before  daybreak  there  was  another  fire.  It  was  a 
barn  of  my  Elder  Harfis  that  burned.  Jim  Garvey 
had  been  seen  near  the  structure  just  before  the  fire 
and  running  down  a  back  alley  just  after  it  burst  out. 
The  police  had  him  before  morning,  and  his  hearing 
was  at  ten  o'clock  in  Squire  Wendell's  office.  The 
evidence  was  only  circumstantial,  but  it  was  very 
strong.  The  offense  was  beyond  Tim's  power  and 
prerogative,  but  the  evidence  was  such  that  he  re 
solved  to  hold  the  prisoner  for  trial  at  County  Sessions, 
and  ordered  his  commitment  to  the  county  jail  unless 
he  could  furnish  bail  in  the  sum  of  five  hundred  dol 
lars.  Being  present  at  the  hearing,  I  very  promptly 
stepped  forward  to  become  his  bail.  As  I  signed  the 
bond,  the  justice  forgot  his  friendship  for  me,  and  ad 
ministered  a  scathing  rebuke  for  the  sentiment  I  was 
wasting  on  this  vagabond,  and  for  the  premium  I  was 
«  putting  on  law-breaking.  This  was  in  the  hearing  of 
the  spectators,  a  gruesome  lot,  such  as  throng  a  police 
justice's  court.  He  closed  his  address  with  a  word  to 
Garvey.  "  You  may  count  yourself  lucky,"  he  said,  "  in 
having  the  Dominie  for  your  friend,  but  I  do  not  think 
it  will  take  you  long  to  convince  him  that  he  is  a  great 
fool."  Jim  shambled  out  of  court  without  a  thank- 
you  to  me,  and  I  was  almost  angry  at  Tim  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life. 

At  dinner  my  mother  said  to  me,  "  My  son,  what 
have  you  done  with  the  silver  cup  ?  " 
"  "What  silver  cup,  mother  ?  " 
"  Why,  there's  only  one  :  the  heirloom." 
An  ominous  misgiving  went  through  me  as  I  an 
swered  : 

"  I  have  done  nothing  with  it,     It  is  on  my  library 
table." 


A  HOPELESS  CASE  49 

"No,"  she  answered.  "Mrs.  Hobart  was  in  this 
morning,  talking  about  a  thought  she  had  of  starting 
an  heirloom  to  go  down  in  their  family  from  father 
to  oldest  son,  generation  after  generation.  I  told  her 
we  had  exactly  such  a  thing  that  your  great-grand 
father  Lord  had  started.  Only  he  had  twelve  chil 
dren,  and  had  given  them  twelve  silver  cups,  with 
conditions  that  the  oldest  child  in  each  line  of  descent 
should  have  the  cup.  I  went  to  get  ours  to  show  her, 
and  it  was  not  to  be  found." 

So  Jim  Garvey's  vanishing  was  explained.  I  went 
to  my  study  to  make  pretense  of  looking  for  the  cup, 
but  I  knew  it  was  gone. 

I  went  out  and  found  Jimmie  MacNaughton.  "  Jim- 
mie,"  I  said,  "I  had  a  loss  last  night.  It  was  not 
discovered  until  this  morning.  I  had  Jim  Garvey  at 
my  house  after  that  first  lire,  and  I  suspect  he  knows 
something  about  that  loss.  I  want  you  to  find  him 
and  bring  him  here.  Don't  tell  him  anything  of  my 
suspicions  or  of  my  loss,  but  bring  him  here.  Tell 
him  that  hot  coffee  is  waiting." 

There  was  no  report  from  Jimmie  until  evening. 
Then  I  heard  feet  stamping  on  the  porch.  MacNaugh- 
ton  was  a  true  Scotchman.  What  the  minister  said  do, 
he  would  do  if  he  could.  In  he  came  with  Garvey,  who 
was  drunk.  "  Sleepy  Hollow "  once  more  received 
Garvey.  Coffee  came  in  presently,  and  I  made  both 
men  drink. 

After  the  little  luncheon,  I  said  to  MacNaughton, 
"Jimmie,  you've  done  me  a  good  job.  Now  you  need 
not  stay.  Garvey  wants  to  talk  to  me,  and  he  prob 
ably  doesn't  want  to  have  you  hear  what  he's  got  to 
say.  If  I  can  ever  help  you,  call  on  me."  So  Jimmie 
went  out  into  the  night. 


50  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

I  sat  down  and  began  to  read.  I  gave  no  heed  to 
my  guest,  but  kept  an  unobserved  watch  on  his  move 
ments.  I  saw  him  look  at  the  place  on  the  table 
where  the  cup  had  been  wont  to  stand,  and  then 
glance  at  me  uneasily.  I  read  on.  He  grew  restless ; 
he  acted  as  nearly  like  a  caged  animal  as  he  could 
without  rising.  At  last  he  slouched  up. 

"  I'm  goin',  parson,"  he  said. 

"  Why,  no,  Jim,"  I  answered.  "  You  haven't  told 
me  what  you  came  for.  Sit  down."  I  rose  and  put 
him  back  into  "Sleepy  Hollow." 

There  was  more  silence.  Finally  he  blurted  out, 
"  Wha'  cher  want  ?  " 

"That's  what  I  would  like  to  know,  Jim.  What 
do  you  want  ?  Why  did  you  come  here  ?  " 

"  Didn't  come  'ere.     Wha'  cher  want  ?  " 

"Did  you  like  your  coffee  and  grub  last  night, 
Jim  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Didn't  hev  none,"  he  answered. 

"  What  ?  Didn't  you  come  home  from  the  fire  with 
me  to  get  coffee  and  bread  and  butter  ?  " 

"  Didn't  get  'em.     Didn't  stay,"  he  answered. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember.  When  I  came  back,  you 
were  gone.  What  made  you  go  ?  " 

"  Was  tired.     Wanted  to  go  to  bed,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Did  you  go  to  bed  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Did — so  'elp  me,"  and  he  swore  until  I  feared  my 
mother  would  hear. 

When  he  stopped,  I  said,  "  Garvey,  do  you  know 
why  you  are  not  in  Salisbury  jail  to-night  ?  " 

"  S'pose  I  do,"  was  his  reply. 

"  What  is  the  reason  ?  " 

"  'Cos  you  went  me  bail,"  he  said. 

"  What  made  me  do  that  ?  " 


A  HOPELESS  CASE  51 

"  Give  'er  up.     Thet's  too  hot  fer  me." 

"  Who's  paid  your  fines  two  or  three  times  for  little 
petty  thefts,  Jim  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  made  no  answer. 

"  Do  you  know  I've  done  that,  Jim  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  'er,"  he  said. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  I  did  that  for,  Jim  ?  " 

"  Give  'er  up :  can't  hold  'er :  she's  too  swift,"  he 
answered.  Baseball  slang  stuck  to  him  still. 

"  See  here,  Garvey  :  are  you  too  drunk  to  under 
stand  if  I  tell  you  ?  " 

"Who  sez  I'm  drunk?  I  ain't  drunk.  I'm  just 
tired.  I  want  to  go  home." 

"  You're  sober,  are  you  ?  " 

"  That's  'er.     That's  wat  I  be." 

"  Well,  then,  if  you're  sober,  what  did  you  do  with 
my  silver  cup  that  you  took  last  night  ?  " 

The  poor  wretch  turned  pale.  He  looked  at  me  in 
a  frightened  way.  I  thought  he  was  about  to  break 
for  the  door,  to  prevent  which  I  rose  and  turned  the 
key,  putting  it  in  my  pocket.  Then  he  began  to  swear. 

"  So  'elp  me  I  ain't  seen  'er ;  not  since  she  stood 
right  there,  I  ain't." 

"  Oh  !  then  you  saw  the  cup  standing  on  the  table, 
Jim  ?  "  I  said. 

"  That's  'er,  parson,  I  seen  'er.  Eight-sided ;  marks 
on  the  sides,"  he  replied. 

"  What  did  you  do  with  the  cup,  Garvey  ?  " 

"  Never  touched  'er.     Ain't  never  seen  'er,"  he  said. 

"  Do  you  know  where  you  are  to-night,  Garvey  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"Yes:  I'm  'ere." 

"  Do  you  know  where  you'll  be  to-morrow  night  ?  " 
I  continued. 


52  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Yes  ,  I'll  be  'ome  in  bed — so  'elp  me,"  and  he 
s \vore  once  more  grotesquely. 

"  No,  Jim.  You  won't  be  in  Greenton.  You'll  be 
in  Salisbury  jail.  I  can't  prove  that  you  stole  the 
cup,  but  I'll  go  to  Justice  Wendell  in  the  morning 
and  cancel  that  bail-bond,  and  he'll  send  you  to  Salis 
bury  before  night.  And  this  fire  means  Dannemora 
or  Sing  Sing." 

"  Don'  cher  do  'er,  parson ;  don'  cher  do  'er.  I'll 
go  to  work.  I  will,  so  'elp  me.  I  won't  drink  no 
more ;  I  won't,  so  'elp  me." 

"  Jim,  you  go  get  that  cup ;  you  bring  it  here 
within  an  hour.  I'll  wait  right  here.  If  you  bring 
it,  all  right,  I'll  let  up.  If  you  don't,  I'll  have  every 
policeman  in  Greenton  after  you  before  midnight." 

"  I'll  do  'er,  parson.  I'll  do  'er.  Lemme  go  git 
'er."  I  took  the  poor  wretch  at  his  word. 

When  the  hour  ended,  I  went  out  for  the  chief  of 
police,  and  started  the  whole  body  after  Garvey. 
They  searched  all  night,  but  did  not  find  him  ;  he 
had  taken  French  leave.  I  never  saw  the  cup  again. 

In  the  morning,  the  chief  reported  to  Justice  Wen 
dell  what  had  happened.  That  night  he  came  into  my 
study,  very  serious. 

"  Dominie,  I'm  older  than  you.  I  think  I  can  see 
farther  into  a  white  oak  plank  than  you  can.  I  knew 
where  the  Garvey  philanthropy  must  end.  I'm  sorry 
you've  lost  that  cup.  But  you've  lost  more.  You'll 
have  to  pay  that  bail-bond.  He  would  have  skipped 
anyway.  I  don't  suppose  you  can  afford  that  five 
hundred  dollars,  but  I  can't  let  you  off.  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  will  do  :  I'll  go  halves  on  it  with  you." 

"  No,  Tim,"  I  said.  "  You're  a  mighty  good  friend, 
but  I'll  take  my  medicine." 


A  HOPELESS  CASE  53 

"Dominie,  you're  good  stuff,"  he  answered.  "But 
there's  one  thing  more  you've  lost:  you've  lost  faith 
in  human  nature.  You  have  benefited  and  trusted 
that  vagabond,  and  twice  within  forty  hours  he  has 
deceived  and  wronged  you.  Human  nature's  fairly 
bad,  Dominie,  as  it  goes." 

"No,  Tim,"  I  answered:  "human  nature's  to  be 
trusted  yet.  You  have  shown  that  in  the  offer  you 
made  just  now.  And  no  man  can  do  what  Garvey 
did  for  that  mother  and  child,  unless  there's  a  soul 
in  him  with  good  impulses.  I'd  like  to  be  the  means 
of  finding  and  setting  free  the  soul  that's  in  Garvey." 

"  You're  a  rainbow-chaser,  Dominie.  You'll  never 
see  Jim  Garvey  again.  And  you're  getting  off  cheap 
with  a  silver  cup  and  five  hundred  dollars." 

"  You're  wrong,  Tim  :  he'll  be  back." 

"  Never,  Dominie,  never." 

About  a  month  later,  Tim  called  me  into  his  office. 

"  Here,  Dominie,  here's  richness  of  your  own  kind. 
This  is  the  real  thing.  You'll  enjoy  it." 

He  had  blue-penciled  his  Troy  morning  journal. 
There  was  a  grim  look  about  his  mouth  as  he  handed 
it  to  me.  Of  course  the  story,  highly  sensational,  was 
about  Garvey.  "  The  Island,"  in  the  river  between 
Troy  and  West  Troy,  was  a  malodorous  place,  and  in 
one  of  its  low  dives  a  quarrel  had  begun  between  two 
men  over  a  game  of  poker,  and  had  spread  to  their 
partisans,  until  the  whole  disreputable  crowd  were 
pushing  and  striking  and  swearing.  In  the  height 
of  the  rumpus,  one  of  the  principals  to  the  original 
fight  had  wrenched  a  leg  from  a  broken  chair 
and  flung  it  into  the  midst  of  his  assailants.  It  had 
struck  a  man  full  in  the  face,  knocked  him  to  the  floor 
senseless,  with  a  great  gash  on  his  cheek,  and  one  eye 


54  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

forever  gone.  Just  at  that  point  the  police  had  burst 
in  and  seized  the  malefactor,  who  was  eagerly  pointed 
out  by  the  cowards  who  wished  to  save  themselves. 

Garvey's  offense  was  aggravated  assault  and  battery. 
He  had  spent  the  night  in  the  police  station,  and  had 
been  arraigned  next  morning.  The  hearing  had  been 
brief.  Our  wonderful  law  had  permitted  him  to  drink 
in  a  licensed  saloon.  Then  it  lodged  him  in  the  city 
prison  for  the  consequences  of  its  own  permission. 
The  case  was  clear,  and  Sing  Sing  was  the  sure  out 
come  for  Garvey.  When  I  had  ended  the  gruesome 
tale,  Tim  said  with  apparent  satisfaction  : 

"Dominie,  it's  a  pity  you  were  not  down  at  that 
hearing.  You  could  have  put  up  more  bail-money  for 
your  protege." 

"  Tim,"  I  said,  "  shut  up."  And  I  walked  out  of 
his  office. 


V 

TIM  GIVES  ME  AN  OUTING 

THE  only  coach  on  the  Adirondack  Railway 
from  Saratoga  to  ]STorth  Creek  was  as  primi 
tive  and  uninviting  as  the  roughest  back 
woodsman  could  desire.  There  were  forty  passengers, 
and  some  few  had  the  equipment  of  sportsmen :  rods, 
creels,  and  guns.  There  was  a  sleeping  car  from 
New  York  on  the  rear  of  the  train,  but  it  was 
inaccessible.  After  Lucerne  was  passed,  and  the 
great  gorge  of  the  Sacandaga  River  crossed,  the  ride 
was  full  of  delight.  Nearer  and  nearer  the  whirring 
train  brought  the  bare  granite  mountains.  Shallower 
and  narrower  grew  the  Hudson.  Now  one  could  wade 
across  without  the  water  coming  to  the  knees ;  then 
there  were  deep  eddies  that  lay  at  the  bottom  of  long 
ripples,  at  the  lower  edges  of  which  fishermen  were 
casting.  Pebbles  and  stones  of  every  shape  filled  the 
river-bed,  and  here  and  there  boulders  so  large  that 
the  stone  in  them  would  have  built  a  house.  I  called 
the  attention  of  a  man  who  sat  in  the  seat  before  me 
to  some  of  them.  He  wore  a  soft  hat  with  a  wide 
brim,  and  snells  and  flies  hooked  to  the  hat-band.  I 
said,  "  What  tremendous  boulders  those  are  ! " 

"What!  them  stuns?"  he  answered. 

"Yes,"  said  I.  "How  did  they  get  here,  alone, 
away  from  the  great  rocks  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  he  ans\vered,  and  I  could  not  tell  whether 
his  words  were  irreverent,  or  whether  he  only  felt 

55 


56  THE  MAID  OF  HONOK 

contempt  for  my  evident  greenness.  "Oh,  yes  !  them 
stuns.  I'll  tell  ye  how  them  got  here.  Them's  some 
of  the  seed  the  Old  Man  dropped  when  he  was  plantin' 
them  big  mountings."  Then  he  looked  at  Wendell 
and  laughed,  and  I  subsided.  Tim  had  evidently  seen 
him  before.  As  it  transpired,  this  very  man  was  to  be 
the  driver  of  our  rig  that  afternoon.  He  was  John 
Pike,  one  of  the  old  drivers,  full  of  quaint  humor. 

At  North  Creek  there  was  a  scramble  for  places  on 
top  of  the  big  stage-coach.  Not  relishing  a  long  ride 
inside,  I  was  starting  to  run  with  the  rest,  when  Tim 
called  out,  "  Hold  on,  Dominie,  we'll  do  better."  So 
the  big  stage  drove  off  without  us.  Wendell  gathered 
our  effects  out  of  the  baggage  car :  two  big  packing 
baskets,  two  rubber  blankets,  two  rubber  overcoats, 
and  the  various  equipment  of  a  fisherman's  outfit. 

"  Dominie,  watch  these,"  he  said  ;  "  I'll  go  hunt  up 
a  buckboard  and  driver."  Very  soon  he  was  back 
with  old  Scarritt,  the  stage-starter. 

"  Yes,"  said  this  official,  "  it  is  just  lucky  for  you. 
There's  a  party  of  four  to  go  into  Indian  Lake  to 
night,  bound  for  Lake  Pleasant.  You're  going  to 
Hosy's,  I  suppose.  The  rig'll  take  you  all  easy.  I'll 
send  Pike  to  drive.  That  be  all  right  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  will  suit  us  well.  Send  up  your  buck- 
board." 

Off  he  bustled  and  presently  from  among  the  dozen 
or  more  waiting  vehicles  the  Indian  Lake  party  was 
driven  to  where  we  stood  on  the  platform.  My  heart 
stopped  still.  There  was  a  man,  a  woman  evidently 
his  wife,  and  a  young  man  whom  I  at  once  recognized 
as  Bruce  Fraser.  The  fourth  member  of  the  group 
was  a  young  woman,  and  as  the  buckboard  stopped, 
and  she  saw  me,  her  face  turned  as  white  as  a  living 


TIM  GIVES  ME  AN  OUTING  57 

face  can.  I  was  face  to  face  with  the  maid  of  honor. 
Hurriedly  I  drew  Tim  away. 

"  See  here,  old  man,"  I  said,  "  that  rig  can  never 
carry  us  with  all  our  luggage  in  addition  to  that  party. 
Let's  get  another." 

"Oh,  hush,"  he  answered.  "There  are  three  seats. 
What's  three  on  one  seat  for  men  ?  I've  gone  in  from 
here  four  on  a  seat.  What's  the  matter  with  you  ? 
You  look  as  if  a  hurricane  had  blown  your  wits 
away." 

I  pulled  myself  together,  and,  by  helping  John  Pike 
put  our  luggage  aboard,  kept  behind  the  wagon.  The 
maid  of  honor  and  her  companion  had  the  back  seat, 
so  I  did  not  have  to  face  the  girl  until  everything  was 
ready  for  the  start.  Then  I  stepped  to  the  side  of  the 
two  ladies  and  doffed  my  hat. 

The  maid  of  honor  greeted  me  by  name,  adding,  "  I 
thought  I  knew  you  when  we  drove  to  the  platform, 
but  you  rushed  off  too  quickly  for  me  to  assure  myself 
by  speaking." 

"  But  I  knew  who  he  was  at  first  sight,"  said  Fraser. 
"  How  are  you,  Dominie  ?  Got  over  St.  David's  yet  ? 
Who's  your  friend  ?  " 

Bruce's  remark  opened  the  way  for  a  general  in 
troduction,  by  which  I  found  that  the  girl's  other  com 
panions  were  her  brother  and  his  wife.  I  made  Tim 
take  the  middle  seat  beside  the  two  men,  while  I  sat 
in  front  with  John  Pike.  The  afternoon  might  have 
been  awkward  but  for  Wendell.  He  snuffed  the 
air  of  the  forest,  his  spirits  rose,  and  his  tongue  was 
loosed.  "  It's  strange  how  small  the  world  is,  and 
how  people  who  meet  once  are  sure  to  meet  again,"  he 
said. 

"  Yes,  and  sometimes  I  wish  the  world  wasn't  so 


58  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

small,"  added  Fraser.  That  he  intended  a  declaration 
of  war  was  plain  enough,  and  I  accepted  it  in  silence. 

But  Tim  answered,  "  I  wish  that  too,  when  I  want  to 
get  into  the  woods  in  comfort,  and  there's  only  one 
vacant  seat,  and  another  fellow  beats  me  in  the  scram 
ble.  But  it's  all  right  to-day,"  and  then  he  chuckled. 

I  never  had  heard  Tim  go  on  as  upon  that  drive  and 
I  was  wondering  if  he  might  have  been  drinking, 
when  John  Pike  suddenly  said,  "  Stranger,  thar's 
sumthin'  beats  them  river  stuns  holler." 

"Where?    What?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  them  trees  thar  by  the  pond,"  he  answered, 
as  he  pointed  to  a  small  pond  in  a  hollow  between  two 
hills  a  little  off  the  road.  "  See  that  pond  ?  See  that 
furder  hill  ?  That's  B'ar  Hill.  No  b'ars  now.  Fifty 
year  ago,  'fore  thar  wuz  much  travel,  B'ar  Hill  was 
full  of  'em." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  what  had  the  bears  to  do  with  the 
trees  ?  " 

"  That's  the  queer  thing,"  said  he.  "  Wa'n't  no 
other  b'ars  like  them  b'ars  in  these  woods.  Them 
b'ars  eat  the  tops  off  them  trees  and  lef  'em  stan'in' 
like  telegraph  poles." 

"  But  that  wasn't  possible,"   I  said. 

"  Fact,"  said  he  ;  "  fact,  jes'  as  true  to-day  as  it  ever 
was,  too." 

"But  they  couldn't,"  I  remonstrated. 

"  But  they  did,"  he  answered.  "  Them  b'ars  was 
built  so't  they  could  climb  up  on  the  tiptop  of  any 
tree  an'  hold  theirselves  like  flyin'  squirrels,  and  then 
they  eatened  their  way  right  down,  leavin'  nothin'  but 
them  stumps  you  see  thar.  State  of  New  York  gin  a 
bounty  to  kill  them  b'ars,  fear  they'd  eat  up  the  hull 
forest.  I  killed  two  hundred  of  'em  myself.  Got  ten 


TIM  GIVES  ME  AN  OUTING  59 

dollars  apiece.  G'lang,  y'  lazy  critters,"  he  cried,  and 
cracked  his  whip.  The  team  plunged,  the  buck  board 
lurched  ;  I  heard  Pike  say,  "  Them  was  awful  b'ars," 
and  then  a  roar  of  laughter  went  up  from  the  two 
back  seats,  while  the  maid  of  honor  made  to  me  the 
first  remark  she  had  volunteered  since  the  drive  began  : 

"  You  are  to  be  envied  your  place  on  that  front  seat. 
You  have  a  most  entertaining  companion." 

"  Right,  ma'am,"  John  Pike  answered,  "  I  be  ;  and  I 
ain't  no  liar  nuther." 

Whereupon  there  was  another  laugh,  and  Wendell 
said,  "  No,  John,  you're  no  liar.  Alvah  Dunning  is  the 
only  liar  in  the  woods." 

John  turned  to  the  company  behind,  the  most 
serious  face  a  mortal  ever  wore.  "  That's  so,  Squire," 
he  said.  "  It's  scandalous  what  an  awful  liar  Alvy  is. 
Nobody  don't  believe  nothin'  he  don't  say." 

An  ominous  cloud  hung  over  the  mountain  as  we 
came  out  into  the  open  beyond  the  long  hill  leading 
up  from  the  North  River  Inn.  There  were  lightning 
and  thunder,  and  the  rain  came  on  with  incredible 
speed.  There  was  no  shelter  possible,  and  the  ladies 
were  in  a  panic.  But  Wendell  was  an  old  woodsman. 
He  made  John  stop  ;  took  out  the  rubber  blankets, 
asked  the  ladies  to  stand ;  wrapped  a  blanket  about 
the  skirts  of  each ;  had  them  put  their  hats  in  their 
laps  under  the  blankets  ;  put  a  rubber  coat  on  each 
one,  and  a  rubber  tarpaulin  on  each  head. 

"  Ladies,"  he  said  finally,  "  you  will  go  absolutely 
dry.  Let  the  rain  soak,  it  will  not  touch  you.  We 
four  men  will  have  to  take  it.  I'm  sorry  for  you, 
gentlemen,"  speaking  to  his  seat  companions,  "  but  it 
can't  be  helped.  The  Dominie  and  I  are  equipped 
for  just  this  thing.  The  storm  will  not  last  very  long, 


60  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

and  the  day  is  not  cold.  We'll  be  all  right."  And 
then  the  tempest  broke.  The  maid  of  honor  had  on 
ray  coat  and  hat,  though  she  did  not  know  it.  The 
rain  swept  down  in  sheets.  John  Pike  kept  the 
horses  moving  as  rapidly  as  he  was  able.  Once  only 
he  spoke : 

"  This  'ere  rain's  wetter  on  the  under  side  than  'tis 
on  top.  Alvy  sez  it  goes  up  agin,  dry  side  up.  Sez  he's 
seen  it  goin'  up.  Sez  the  sun  draws  it.  Do  you 
b'leeve  that,  Squire  ?  Do  you  b'leeve  rain  goes  up 
agin  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  John  ;  I  guess  that's  so." 

"  Wai,  if  you  sez  so,  I'll  take  'er  down,  Squire.  But 
if  the  side  of  that  'ere  rain  that  goes  up  is  dry,  I  wish 
the  Old  Man  up  there  would  send  her  down  bottom  side 
up.  I  do,  Squire.  It's  bad  for  bosses  wet  side  down." 

I  never  had  seen  such  a  sight  as  greeted  our  eyes 
when  the  clouds  were  driven  eastward  by  the  wind. 
Twenty  miles  beyond,  high  up  against  the  infinite 
azure  rose  the  masses  of  the  Adirondacks.  For  forty 
miles  from  north  to  south  they  swept,  blue,  rugged, 
irregular  and  fascinating  in  outline.  From  the  mo 
ment  that  storm-cloud  passed  until  we  turned  into  the 
Indian  Lake  road,  great  Blue  Mountain  and  pictur 
esque  West  Mountain  were  not  once  out  of  range. 
The  guides  call  Blue  Mountain  "The  Elephant." 
That  is  the  figure  the  outline  makes  against  the  sky, 
looking  from  the  east. 

John  Pike  spoke,  after  the  two  ladies  had  lavished 
fine  phrases  on  the  wonderful  scene.  Said  he,  "  Squire, 
the  Elephant  hain't  got  no  furder  south  than  when  you 
was  in  last.  He  seems  to  hev  got  stuck.  Probably's 
waitin'  for  Alvy  to  help  him.  But  Alvy's  too  busy 
lyin'." 


TIM  GIVES  ME  AN  OUTING  61 

"  You  don't  seem  to  have  a  high  opinion  of  your 
*  Alvy,'  Pike,"  I  said.  "  Don't  the  guides  like  him  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  Alvy's  popular,"  he  answered  ;  "all  liars 
is.  You  talk  to  ary  guide  in  the  woods,  an'  he'll  tell 
you  in  the  eye-dentikle  languidge  I'm  usin',  ary  one  of 
'em  will,  '  every  guide  in  the  woods  likes  Alvy,  but 
me.'  " 

"  By  '  me '  meaning  you,  John,"  said  I. 

"Not  by  a  long  shot;"  was  the  answer;  "meanin' 
hisself." 

There  was  a  great  laugh,  and  the  maid  of  honor  said, 
"  Mr.  Pike  !  " 

"  Ma'am  to  you,"  said  he. 

k;  Where  is  the  Elephant  ?  " 

'•  flight  forninst  ye,"  said  he.  "  The  Squire  calls 
him  •  Blue  Mounting.'  But  I  don't  see  no  sense  in  it. 
The  hull  gallery's  blue.  Don't  you  know  what  the 
Big  Book  sez, '  It's  distance  sends  enchantics  into  view, 
an'  makes  the  mountings  look  forever  blue.'  Parson 
Kempshire  from  New  Jersey  larned  me  that.  Ma'am, 
the  hull  bunch  is  blue,  but  there's  only  one  Elephant." 

"  But,  Mr.  Pike,"  said  the  elder  woman,  "  if  the  Ele 
phant  is  that  mountain,  what  do  you  mean  by  his  not 
moving?" 

"  Mean,  rna'am  ?  Just  what  I  said,  ma'am.  He 
hain't  moved  a  foot  since  the  Squire  was  in  las'  year." 

"Why,  of  course,"  the  lady  replied.  "Mountains 
can't  move." 

"  The  Elephant  can,  ma'am,"  he  answered.  "  Forty 
year  ago,  when  I  fust  come  in  here,  he  was  twenty  full 
mile  furder  north.  He  come  down  a  mile  a  year  some 
times  ;  half  a  mile  sometimes.  But  he  hain't  moved 
for  a  year.  An'  I  ain't  lyin'  nuther.  I  never  lie  when 
I  can  think  of  a  truth  that  will  suit  me  better.  We 


62  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

leave  that  to  Alvy.  He'd  tell  ye  the  Elephant  turned 
somersaults.  But  he  don't.  Ton  my  word,  he 
don't." 

John  was  right.  There  is  only  one  Elephant,  and 
there's  only  one  West  Mountain.  Wendell  called  it 
"  Old  Snowy,"  and  John  called  it  "  French  Cap,"  from 
the  peculiar  shape  of  the  top.  It  lay  south  and  to  the 
left  of  our  road,  and  Wendell  told  the  ladies  that 
"  The  Castle  of  Indolence,"  where  they  would  sleep 
that  night,  was  at  its  base. 

"  What  is  the  Castle  of  Indolence  ?"  asked  the  maid 
of  honor. 

"  David  Thornton's  camp,"  answered  Tim.  "  That's 
my  name  for  it.  It's  a  place  where  there  is  nothing  to 
do,  and  nothing  to  do  it  with,  and  nothing  to  show  for 
it  after  you  get  it  done.  It  is  the  lazy  corner  of  the 
world.  The  only  one  who  works  is  Mrs.  Thornton. 
She  is  a  famous  cook.  The  mountain  air  is  a  tonic. 
'  Old  Snowy'  is  behind  you,  forever  on  guard.  Some 
times  a  bear  comes  into  the  berry  patch  behind  the 
castle  to  save  David  the  trouble  of  picking  the  berries. 
A  hermit  thrush  will  sing  in  a  tall  hemlock  there  about 
eight  o'clock  to-night.  A  bald-headed  eagle  will  sit 
on  the  high  top  of  a  dead  fir  across  the  lake  all  day 
to-morrow,  watching  for  fish.  Duty  is  never  thought 
of  up  there,  and  conscience  never  troubles  anyone. 
There  are  three  cabins ;  one  is  dormitory  and  parlor ; 
one  is  dining-room  ;  one  is  David's  own  home.  The 
three  look  as  if  they  had  been  drawn  each  out  of  the 
one  next  it,  like  a  three-barreled  telescope.  The  spaces 
between  the  houses  are  covered  porches,  and  the 
porches  run  all  along  the  fronts  too.  Greatest  place 
in  the  world  for  an  idler.  I  wish  your  party  would 
stay  there  a  week.  I'd  take  you  to  the  top  of 


TIM  GIVES  ME  AN  OUTING  63 

Snowy,  and  show  you  such  a  panorama  as  you  never 
saw." 

Then  the  voice  of  the  girl,  whose  eye  could  flash 
like  cold  steel,  spoke:  "Thank  you,  Mr.  Wendell;  I 
think  one  night  in  such  a  place  would  exhaust  even  our 
capacity  for  indolence,  and  you  gentlemen  might  find 
us  more  troublesome  than  we  have  been  on  this  drive." 

And  I  understood  what  she  meant,  though  Tim  did 
not. 

When  the  storm  had  spent  itself,  we  four  men  were 
soaked.  Wendell  and  I  were  in  old  clothes,  prepared 
for  such  Mayday  mishaps,  but  the  other  men  had 
fared  ill.  Their  new  spring  suits  were  ruined.  Tim 
took  our  rubber  coats  from  the  ladies  and  put 
them  upon  the  men ;  wrapped  them  tightly  about 
them,  and  the  rubber  blanket  about  their  legs. 

"  You'll  steam  yourselves  dry  before  we  reach 
Locke's,"  Tim  said,  "  and  you  won't  take  cold  ;  but  I'll 
not  vouch  for  what  may  happen  if  you  don't  keep 
wrapped." 

The  two  men  must  have  been  uncomfortable,  but 
there  was  no  other  way,  and  I  was  glad  to  get  Bruce 
Fraser  into  as  uncomfortable  a  state  as  I  could. 

When  we  reached  Indian  Itiver  Tavern,  there  was  a 
stop  for  fifteen  minutes  for  rest.  All  alighted  and 
entered  the  snug  little  wayside  hotel.  We  men  went 
to  the  office,  which  served  also  as  bar-room,  and  there 
wrung  a  little  of  the  water  from  our  dripping  coats. 
Fraser  drank  whiskey  heavily  during  our  brief  stay, 
though  Wendell  and  the  older  man  took  only  enough 
to  prevent  cold.  Our  companions  informed  us  that 
they  were  going  directly  on,  without  stopping  for 
supper  at  Locke's.  I  proposed  to  Tim  that  we  keep 
them  company,  but  he  would  go  no  further. 


64  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

As  a  result  of  his  three  glasses  of  whiskey  at  the 
tavern,  Fraser,  during  the  rest  of  the  ride,  was  drunk 
— not  hopelessly  or  stupidly  so,  but  so  unsteady  that 
I  saw  it  would  not  be  safe  to  trust  him  in  a  canoe  with 
another  person.  Three  guides,  with  their  boats,  were 
to  meet  the  party  at  Locke's,  and  I  told  John  Pike  to 
see  that  they  loaded  the  two  women  in  one  boat,  and 
one  man  and  a  part  of  the  luggage  in  each  of  the  other 
boats.  I  did  not  mean  to  have  the  maid  of  honor  put 
in  peril  of  her  life. 

Our  companions  went  directly  from  the  buckboard 
to  the  boats,  where  my  prearrangement  was  carried 
out,  the  guides  flatly  refusing  to  go  in  any  other  way, 
in  spite  of  Bruce's  wrath. 

Tim  made  the  men  wear  our  rubber  coats  and 
blankets  still,  and  we  gave  the  ladies  our  heavy  camp 
blanket,  with  request  that  all  be  left  at  Thornton's 
Castle,  whither  we  would  follow  in  the  morning.  The 
ladies  were  profuse  in  their  expressions  of  gratitude  to 
Wendell,  and  with  real  regret  we  saw  them  row  away 
up  the  lake.  I  had  been  hoping  all  the  afternoon  that 
something  would  keep  them  at  Locke's  over  night,  and 
that  I  then  might  get  the  sort  of  opportunity  with  the 
maid  of  honor  for  which  the  afternoon  had  prepared. 
But  they  were  gone ;  and  when  I  thought  the  whole 
episode  over,  I  remembered  that  in  spite  of  all  her 
courteous  manner  she  had  addressed  but  one  sentence 
to  me,  beyond  those  made  necessary  by  social  conven 
tionality. 

At  supper  Tim  said,  "  Who  was  that  girl,  Dominie  ?  " 

"  You  know  all  I  do,  Tim :  her  name  and  the  fact 
that  she  was  at  Harry  Sinclair's  wedding,  as  I  was." 

"  Is  that  all  you  know  ?  " 

"  Every  bit." 


TIM  GIVES  ME  AN  OUTING  65 

"  Where  does  she  live  ?  " 

"Idon'tkno\v." 

"  Well,  Dominie,  she's  the  most  beautiful  girl  I  ever 
saw ;  and  if  I  were  in  your  place " 

"  Oh,  hush,  Tim ;  you're  not  in  my  place.  She's 
gone.  Let  her  be  gone." 

Tim  looked  at  me  with  a  queer  look,  whistled,  and 
said,  "  I'll  go  down  and  look  the  boat  over." 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  Tim  came  back,  reporting 
everything  in  order  and  ready  for  a  start.  Sitting  on 
the  floor  of  the  porch,  with  feet  on  the  steps,  elbows  on 
knees,  and  his  face  in  his  hands,  gazing  out  over  the 
lake,  he  said  presently : 

"  You  bluffed  me  about  the  girl.  I'll  try  another 
tack.  Who's  the  man  ?  " 

"  Stupid,"  I  replied,  "  didn't  you  hear  her  say  he 
was  her  brother  ?  " 

"  Oh,  bother  the  brother.  Be  square.  Who  was 
the  young  sprig  that  you  don't  like,  and  who  doesn't 
like  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  introduced  him  to  you.  If  you've  forgot 
ten  his  name,  it's  Bruce  Fraser." 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  like  him  ?  I  know  why  I 
don't — he's  too  fond  of  his  gin.  I  don't  care  for  that 
sort.  He's  engaged  to  the  girl,  I  take  it,  and  I'm 
sorry  for  her." 

"If  he  is,  it's  none  of  your  business,  nor  mine. 
She'll  find  out  her  mistake  some  day." 

"  See  here,  Dominie,  I  never  saw  you  so  cranky  be 
fore.  Are  you ?  By  Jove  !  I  believe  you're  in 

love  with  her  yourself  !  " 

"  Shut  up,  Tim.  I  hate  Fraser — he's  a  drunken 
fool — and  I  never  expect  to  see  her  again." 

When  we  reached  "  The  Castle  of  Indolence,"  to- 


66  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

ward  noon  next  day,  the  party  had  gone  on  to  Lewey 
Lake.  But  in  David  Thornton's  guest-book  the  older 
man  had  written  his  own  name,  and  following  that 
were  the  words,  "  wife  and  sister,  Newark,  N.  J." 
Then  came  Fraser's  name,  also  of  Newark.  I  smiled 
and  thought,  "  Well,  my  lady,  I  have  at  least  learned 
where  you  live."  Tim  had  gone  out  into  the  woods 
with  his  gun.  I  lay  in  a  hammock  on  the  porch  be 
tween  two  of  the  three  log  houses  which  make  the 
"  Castle  of  Indolence,"  with  a  smudge-pan  sending  up 
resinous  smoke  to  drive  off  blackflies.  I  was  reading 
Carlyle's  "  Diamond  Necklace." 

Tim  came  back,  looked  over  my  book,  and  said, 
"That  necklace  vanished  through  the  Horn  Gate  of 
Dreams,  I  believe." 

I  answered  with  a  laugh,  "  Yes,  that's  what  it  did." 

"  But  the  girl !  "  said  Tim.  "  It's  Newark,  isn't  it, 
Dominie  ?  No  Horn  Gate  about  that." 

"  Yes,  Newark,"  I  said. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  saying,"  he  went  on,  "  if  I  were  in 
your  place " 

"  Dinner,  Squire.  Dinner,  Mr.  Dominie,"  sounded 
a  child's  voice.  And  we  went  to  dinner,  and  there 
were  bear  steak  and  five  kinds  of  pie. 


YI 

AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST 

MID-AFTERNOON  Friday  had  come.  My 
sermons  were  not  ready  ;  for  the  morning, 
though  spent  in  study,  had  been  fruitless. 
The  calls  which  had  been  planned  for  that  day  had 
been  made.  The  westerly-facing  porch  of  my  home 
was  a  charming  place  in  the  summer  afternoon,  and  I 
was  enjoying  its  comfort,  tilted  back  in  a  great  arm 
chair.  There  was  a  book  in  my  hand,  but  my  read 
ing  wits  were  wool-gathering.  Each  time  my  fingers 
turned  a  leaf,  the  face  of  a  girl  would  look  out  at 
me, — a  girl  wearing  a  yellow  oilskin  hat  arid  coat, 
wrapped  in  a  rubber  blanket.  She  was  in  a  buckboard 
on  the  Blue  Mountain  road,  and  the  drenching  rain 
poured  down  relentlessly  ;  yet  she  was  laughing  in 
girlish  glee  as  she  saw  her  brother  and  Wendell  and 
me  walking  up  the  road,  soaking  and  dripping  with 
the  rain.  Repeatedly  I  shook  off  the  hallucination, 
and  with  determination  began  to  read.  Repeatedly 
also  the  lines  of  the  book  ran  together,  my  eyelids 
closed,  and  my  head  dropped  forward ;  then  down  the 
chair  went  with  a  thump  to  the  floor,  waking  me  with 
a  start.  The  influence  of  "  The  Castle  of  Indolence  " 
was  not  yet  out  of  my  brain.  Out  of  one  of  the  most 
satisfying  of  those  little  interludes  between  girl  and 
book,  I  was  waked  by  the  rumble  of  the  Concord 
coach  that  brought  passengers  from  Camblet,  on  the 
railroad,  eight  miles  away. 

67 


68  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

I  sleepily  watched  the  coach  driving  away  from  my 
house,  and  at  the  same  moment  noticed  a  big  man 
standing  on  the  porch  near  me,  laughing  heartily.  I 
heard  him  say,  "  Juist  like  all  the  preachers ;  workin' 
hard  ere  the  day  wanes." 

It  was  David  Henderson.  Too  much  surprised  to 
realize  anything  but  his  presence,  not  awake  enough 
to  know  exactly  where  I  was,  I  imagined  that  Hen 
derson  and  I  were  together  in  the  Jersey  City  station, 
and  my  first  words  were,  "  Yes,  there  are  trout  there, 
big  ones." 

Then  he  roared  again,  and  when  his  laughter  had 
subsided,  cried,  "  Wake  up,  man !  Throw  down  the 
buik.  Gie  me  your  han'.  Gie  me  a  welcome." 

Fairly  aroused  by  that,  I  grasped  his  hand,  saying, 
"  Mr.  Henderson,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  here.  Give  you 
a  welcome  ?  Well,  I  should  say.  You  caught  me ; 
indeed  you  caught  me.  Can  you  take  a  trout  as 
unawares  as  you  took  me  ?  " 

"  That  I  can,  an  ye  gie  me  the  chance,"  he  replied. 

"  I  wish  I  could  give  you  the  chance,"  I  answered. 
"But  you  are  too  late,  Mr.  Henderson.  It's  late 
June.  The  trout  have  gone  to  deep  water.  Did  you 
come  fishing  ?  " 

"  What  else  would  I  come  for  ? "  he  asked.  "  I 
crossed  your  river  in  yon  stage.  It's  a  gey-lookin' 
river." 

"  Yes,  that's  unexcelled,  that  river,"  said  I.  "But 
you're  too  late." 

"  Losh,  man,  ye  dinna  ken  me.  Do  I  luik  like  a 
man  that  is  ever  too  late  for  anything  he  wants  ?  " 

"  All  right,  you  shall  make  your  trial,"  I  said. 
"  But  come  in  now,  let  me  show  you  to  your  room," 
and  I  started  for  the  door. 


AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST  69 

"No,"  he  spoke  very  quickly,  almost  impatiently, 
"I'll  no  go  in.  I'll  be  after  castin'  a  fly." 

"  But  you're  too  late  in  the  day,"  I  said.  "  To-mor 
row  I'll  see  you  have  good  sport  at  some  spring-holes, 
if  I  can  find  a  guide  for  you." 

"  I'm  no  too  late  in  the  day,"  he  insisted.  "  Your 
trout  are  no  differ  frae  ony  ither  trout,  an'  they  all 
know  when  Davie  Henderson  casts  his  fly." 

"  "Well,  wait  until  to-morrow,"  I  said  once  more. 

"Man,  you  a  preacher,  and  talkin'  to  an  elder 
aboot  to-morrow  ?  Dinna  ye  ken  there's  no  to-mor 
row  ?  To-day  was  to-morrow  yesterday,  an'  to-mor- 
row'll  be  to-day  to-morrow." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "  there's  no  time  to  go  to  the  spring- 
holes  in  the  to-morrow  that  to-day  was  yesterday, 
anyway." 

"  Time  ?  Spring-holes  ?  "  he  retorted.  "  What  do 
I  care  for  time  or  spring-holes  ?  Isna  the  river  juist 
•beyond  ?  What's  to  hinder  castin'  a  fly  noo,  richt 
noo,  juist  doon  that  bank  yonder  ?  " 

"  There's  nothing  to  hinder,"  I  said,  "  except  that  I 
know  Greenton  River  trout  better  than  you  do,  and 
the  shadows  are  deep  under  the  banks  at  this  time  of 
day,  and  there's  no  deep  water  there." 

"  Nonsense  ;  trout  will  rise  to  my  fly  at  midnight  if 
I  say  so.  I  tell  ye  I've  got  to  go  doon  and  speak  a 
word  wi'  those  trouties  to-day." 

"  All  right :  we'll  go  down,  but  it  is  a  fool's 
errand,"  and  straightway  we  bore  his  luggage  into 
the  hall.  There  he  opened  up  his  fishing-case  and 
produced  a  fly-rod,  one  of  the  lightest  I  had  ever  seen, 
his  book  of  flies,  and  a  bottle  of  whiskey.  I  said : 

"  See  here,  Mr.  Henderson,  our  trout  do  not  drink 
whiskey.  I'll  go  show  you  the  best  accessible  place 


70  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

to  cast  a  fly,  but  I'm  the  preacher  for  that  church 
there,  and  I  will  not  be  seen  in  company  with  any 
such  helps  to  angling  as  you  have  in  that  bottle. 
You'll  have  to  excuse  me." 

"  Fash  !  dinna  be  uneasy  :  it's  only  for  a  libation  to 
the  gods.  Come  along  noo." 

The  Presbyterian  church  in  Greenton  stands  upon 
a  bluff,  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  the  river. 
Perfectly  familiar  with  it  from  boyhood,  I  went 
down  the  zigzag  path  on  the  run,  but  Henderson  was 
stout  and  clumsy.  He  was  puffing  and  blowing  like 
a  porpoise  before  he  had  gone  forty  feet,  and  calling 
out: 

"  Man,  do  ye  think  I  want  to  dee  before  I  get  a 
chance  to  mak'  a  cast  ?  I'm  too  much  o'  a  man  to 
dee  in  a  wee  feckless  toon  like  this.  Wait  till  I  get 
ma  breath." 

"  I'll  wait  when  I  get  to  the  bottom,"  I  called  back. 
"  I  thought  you  were  a  fisherman." 

"I  am  a  fisherman:  the  best  i'  this  toon  the  day; 
but  I'm  no  wild  animal  to  go  racin'  doon  precipices. 
Wait,  I  tell  ye." 

But  my  laugh  as  I  got  to  the  bottom  was  my  only 
answer.  When  he  finally  came  up  with  me  his  face 
was  as  red  as  a  boiled  lobster. 

Oh,  that  Greenton  River  !  How  fresh,  how  clear, 
how  cool  its  waters  come  from  the  distant  hills  to  lave 
the  feet  of  the  gravel  banks  made  by  the  glaciers 
thousands  of  years  ago.  Out  of  the  sides  of  those 
bluffs  come  sparkling  streams  of  ice-cold  water. 
Where  they  flow  into  the  river,  the  trout  lie  at  the 
bottom  of  the  reefs  or  at  the  lower  edges  of  the 
pools.  Near  one  of  these  rivulets,  Henderson  reached 
the  edge  of  the  river,  and  in  an  instant  he  was  trans- 


AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST  71 

formed.  Kneeling  by  the  ice-cold  rill,  he  dipped  his 
palm  full  of  the  water.  Then  lapping  and  tasting, 
and  lapping  again,  he  said,  "Aye,  there'll  be  trout 
there."  Next,  having  adjusted  his  fishing-rod  and 
chosen  his  flies,  he  produced  his  flask.  He  stood  for  a 
moment  like  one  lost  in  thought :  then,  lifting  high 
the  flask,  he  poured  out  upon  the  air  enough  for  a 
man  to  drink,  and  said  as  if  he  were  a  priest  at  a 
shrine,  "Here's  to  ye,  Izaak !  Ye  hae  drunk  my 
draught  full  many's  the  time.  Likewise  ye  hae 
brought  the  cast  and  the  rise  o'  the  trout  thegither. 
Noo  bless  the  cast  and  the  rise,  as  ye  hae  dune  for 
me  full  many's  the  time." 

That  was  the  strangest  act  I  ever  saw  performed  by 
a  Presbyterian  elder. 

The  timber  growth  was  heavy  on  the  bank  where  we 
had  descended,  and  I  had  no  thought  of  stopping.  To 
cast  a  fly  without  hopelessly  tangling  the  line  in  the 
low-growing  branches  was  next  to  impossible.  But 
when  I  started  up  the  stream,  Henderson  would  not 
move. 

"  Here's  the  place  to  cast,"  he  said  doggedly. 

"  But  you  can't  do  it  here,"  I  answered. 

"  Who  telt  ye  I  couldna  ?  " 

"  Well,  nobody  ever  does." 

"  An'  dinna  ye  suppose  I  would  be  knowin'  that  ? 
That's  juist  the  reason  I'm  stoppin'  here." 

I  couldn't  budge  him.  It  was  cast  there  or  nowhere. 
As  he  began  casting,  I  watched  him  with  mute  admi 
ration  at  his  skill.  With  a  side  swing  he  whipped  his 
line  this  way  and  that,  letting  out  a  little  more  with 
each  return  until  he  dropped  his  fly  just  at  the  edge 
of  a  long  pool.  There  was  a  break  as  a  large  trout 
rose,  and  at  the  instant  Henderson  struck.  It  was  a 


72  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

full  half  hour  before  he  landed  that  fish.  He  was 
sport  incarnate.  He  knew  how.  So  did  the  fish. 
Neither  left  a  trick  untried.  But  the  man  won,  of 
course.  What  can  a  fish  do  against  a  man  ?  I  sat  on 
a  rock  and  watched.  Though  I  had  lived  on  that 
stream  for  years,  I  had  never  caught  such  a  fish.  The 
common  belief  was  that  no  trout  would  rise  to  a  fly 
anywhere  in  the  course  of  the  stream  through  the 
town.  The  boys  could  once  in  a  while  snare  one  with 
a  slip-noose  made  of  braided  horsehair.  But  here  had 
come  a  stranger  who,  at  his  first  attempt,  destroyed 
all  tradition.  And  with  an  air  of  triumph  he  turned 
to  me. 

"  Man,  didn't  I  tell  ye  ?  "  he  said. 

He  kept  at  the  sport  only  a  little  longer,  but  when 
we  returned  to  the  parsonage  he  carried  three  fish,  of 
which  the  largest  weighed  five  pounds,  and  the  small 
est  a  trifle  over  two  pounds.  Henderson  was  in  high 
glee. 

"Ye  see,  it  was  the  libation  to  old  Izaak,"  he 
chuckled. 

It  was  dark  when  we  came  up  from  the  river,  and  I 
knew  the  tea-table  had  been  waiting  long.  I  hurried 
my  guest  to  his  room  to  prepare  for  tea.  That  gave 
me  time  to  recall  to  my  mother  my  first  meeting  with 
him  and  to  tell  her  how  utterly  unexpected  was  this 
visit.  I  was  not  quite  sure  how  she  would  like  him. 
Very  strong  in  her  likes  and  dislikes  was  my  mother. 
She  was  sixty-five  years  old,  religious  by  nature  and 
circumspect  by  training.  She  had  seen  husband  and 
four  children  embark  on  the  strange  voyage  over 
unseen  seas  into  unknown  lands.  I  was  her  youngest 
and  only  remaining  son.  She  had  given  me  the  best 
education  her  means  would  afford,  and  had  been  filled 


AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST  73 

with  unutterable  joy  when  I  was  called  to  the  Presby 
terian  church  in  Greenton.  A  native  of  that  village, 
she  had  seen  it  grow  from  a  hamlet  to  a  prosperous 
country  town ;  and  as  the  wife  of  one  of  its  foremost 
citizens,  she  had  been  active  in  every  good  work.  But 
she  Avas  an  old  lady  now.  Her  hair  was  white,  and 
very  beautiful.  She  parted  it  in  the  middle,  brushing 
it  smoothly  down  and  catching  the  white  curls  on 
each  side  by  a  short  tortoise-shell  comb.  A  little  cap 
with  a  lavender  ribbon  was  her  head-dress.  She  was 
an  old-fashioned  lady,  who  belonged  to  another  age, 
but  who  had  brought  its  grace  and  loveliness  down 
into  the  present.  She  had  been  able,  in  spite  of  sor 
row,  to  keep  her  heart  fresh,  her  mind  clear,  and  her 
thought  vigorous  about  all  the  things  that  transpired 
from  day  to  day.  The  New  York  Tribune  she 
read  each  week.  For  every  happening  of  that  time 
she  had  her  own  interpretation,  and  to  convince 
her  that  she  was  beaten  in  an  argument  was  dif 
ficult. 

Not  until  Henderson  came  down  to  supper  did  I 
have  opportunity  to  present  him  to  my  mother.  As 
I  heard  his  foot  on  the  stairs,  we  hastened  to  meet 
him.  I  thought  my  mother  very  beautiful,  and  was 
pleased  when  with  a  courtier-like  bow,  he  greeted  her 
saying,  "  It  is  a  delight  to  be  in  so  pleasant  a  home, 
madam,  and  I  see  why  I  have  become  so  interested  in 
your  son." 

"I  am  delighted  to  hear  that,"  she  made  answer. 
"  I  am  interested  in  him  myself ;  he  is  my  only  one 
now — that  is,  my  only  one  here.  We  are  glad  to  make 
you  welcome  to  our  Greenton  home." 

I  saw  that  his  old-time  courtliness  had  won  her. 
Turning  to  me,  Henderson  said  like  a  flash,  "  An'  is 


74  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

this  all  the  women  ye've  got ;  juist  a  mither  ?  Is 
there  never  a  wife's  mither  around  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied,  laughing,  "there's  no  wife's  mother." 

"  Well,  that  would  be  all  right.  Wife's  mithers  are 
no  the  things  for  poor  preachers — an'  ye  ken  the 
New  Orleans  man  told  me  ye  were  a  poor  preacher." 

The  insinuation  disturbed  my  mother. 

"  Mr.  Henderson,  he  is  not  a  poor  preacher.  He  is 
a  good  preacher,  a  very  good  preacher,"  and  the 
dear  lady  bridled  back  as  only  old  ladies  of  a  past 
generation  can.  Henderson  was  equal  to  the  occasion. 

"  That  does  great  credit  to  your  heart,  madam.  An' 
he's  a  better  preacher,  I  doot,  a  far  better  preacher 
than  he  would  be,  were  ye  no  his  mither." 

My  mother  liked  a  compliment.  Smiling,  she  said, 
"  I  think  tea  is  ready." 

When  we  were  in  our  places,  I  asked  my  guest  to 
say  grace.  As  he  responded,  there  came  into  his 
speech  the  flavor  of  that  talk  in  the  train. 

"  Oh,  Lord,  mak'  us  thankfu'  for  what  we  hae,  and 
for  what  we  hae  na :  for  ane's  juist  as  good  as  the 
ither,  since  it's  Thy  work  anyway.  Amen." 

'I  dared  not  look  at  my  mother,  but  I  thought  I  felt 
a  little  shake  of  the  table  from  her  side.  Henderson 
was  surety  queer  when  he  entered  the  realm  of  religion. 

"D'  ye  believe  in  profession  of  releegion,  madam?" 
Henderson  said  this  to  my  mother  almost  in  the  same 
breath  with  his  "  Amen."  He  was  beginning  with 
her  as  he  had  with  me. 

But  she  turned  him  from  the  discussion  for  which  he 
was  evidently  longing,  by  saying :  "  I  certainly  do. 
But,  Mr.  Henderson,  I  have  not  thanked  you  yet  for 
the  honor  you  have  done  us  in  accepting  my  son's 
invitation  to  be  our  guest." 


AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST  75 

"Invitation?  I  never  had  any  invitation.  I  juist 
came.  I  wanted  to  see  if  the  youngster  was  leein' 
aboot  thae  trout." 

"  Well  then,  let  me  thank  you  for  feeling  sure  we 
would  be  hospitable,  and  that  you  would  find  open 
doors,  even  if  not  invited." 

"  But  I  didna  feel  so.  I  didna  ken  whether  that 
youngster  and  his  wife  would  make  me  welcome  or 
no.  But,  speakin'  o'  the  wife,"  with  a  sudden  change 
of  tack,  "  I  beg  your  pardon  for  not  askin'  for  her 
before.  Why  dinna  ye  bring  her  in  ?  We're  havin'  the 
tea  withoot  her.  Is  she  sick  or  awa',  or  are  ye  ashamed 
o'  her  ?  Ye  telt  me  there  wasna  any  wife's  mither,  but 
there's  a  wife  somewhere,  of  coorse,  ye  bein'  a  bishop." 

"  No,"  I  broke  in,  "  there  isn't  any  wife.  I  wish 
there  were,  but  there  isn't." 

"  Oh,  I  beg  pardon.  She's  deed,  then  ?  Ye're  a 
widower  ?  How  lang  since  she's  deed,  man  ?  Why 
don't  ye  wear  a  weed,  an'  where's  the  baby  ? " 

I  answered,  "  Mr.  Henderson,  you're  all  wrong. 
There  never  was  any  wife,  so  she  is  not  dead  ;  and  I'm 
not  a  widower,  and  there  is  no  baby." 

"  Do  ye  sit  there  and  tell  me  that  ?  You  a  preacher, 
an'  no  wife  ?  Dinna  ye  ken  the  Scripture  ?  A  bishop 
must  be  the  husband  of  one  wife  ?  Or  perhaps  it's 
engaged  ye  are,  an'  the  happy  time  is  comin'  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  not  engaged  I  am,  though  I  would  like 
to  be.  The  truth  is,  I  never  saw  but  one  girl  I  had 
the  least  desire  to  win  for  my  wife,  and  I  might  just 
as  well  try  to  win  the  love  of  the  original  statue  of 
the  Venus  de  Milo." 

"  Is  that  so,  dear  boy  ?  "  my  mother  exclaimed.  "  Is 
there  a  girl  somewhere  by  whom  you've  been  en 
slaved  ?  " 


76 

I  had  never  told  my  mother  about  the  maid  of 
honor.  I  could  not.  All  that  experience  around  old 
Paoli  had  sunk  too  deep. 

But  ere  I  could  make  reply  to  my  mother,  Hen 
derson  said,  "  Not  another  lassie  i'  the  world  for  ye, 
eh?" 

"  No,  Mr.  Henderson,  not  another  one." 

"  No  more  trout  i'  that  river  than  those  I  caught  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  answered.  "  Not  many  more 
like  the  big  one,  anyway."  I  had  caught  the  drift  of 
his  remarks. 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  are,  man  ;  any  quantity  of  'em  for 
him  who  kens  how  to  catch  'em.  No  more  girls  i' 
the  world,  that  ye'd  have  ?  What  do  ye,  up  here  in 
the  country,  know  aboot  girls?  There's  lots  o' girls. 
The  right  fly  an'  the  right  cast  will  get  the  trout." 

"  Well,  let  them  have  them,  that  can  get  them,"  I 
returned  a  little  wearily.  "  I  shall  never  strive  to  find 
the  place  where  they  are,  nor  to  choose  the  right  fly, 
nor  make  the  right  cast."  And  as  I  spoke,  the  scenes 
at  old  St.  David's  and  our  meeting  after  in  the  moun 
tains,  and  her  beauty,  and  her  power  to  hold  me  fasci 
nated,  came  over  me,  and  I  longed  for  her  as  I  never 
had  before. 

"  Oh,  losh,  man,  ye  will.  I  know  a  girl, — my  !  but 
I  know  a  girl.  If  ever  ye  see  her  ye'll  have  your 
rod  an'  line  out  in  a  minute.  Ye'll  say  ye  never  saw 
so  beautiful  a  woman  before  in  all  your  life,  an'  ye'll 
tell  truth,  too." 

"  Who  is  she  ?  " 

"  Hear  him !  '  Never  saw  but  one  girl.  Never 
shall  see  another.'  An'  I  say,  '  I  know  a  girl,'  an'  he 
jumps  like  a  trout  wi'  his  '  Who  is  she  ?  '  Oh,  ye  rise 
easy." 


AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST  T7 

"  Well,  but  who  is  she  ?  " 

"  I  willna  tell  ye.  That  would  spoil  a'  the  fun  I'm 
goin'  to  have  wi'  ye.  Would  you,  madam  ?" 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  I  would,"  answered  my  mother. 
"  He  might  go  to  find  her,  and  then  I  should  lose  my 
boy." 

"  Don't  fear,"  I  answered,  as  we  rose  from  the  table. 
"  I  shall  not  go  seeking  this  girl,  nor  any  other,  while 
you  live,  mother." 

It  was  Friday  night.  I  supposed  Henderson  would 
be  off  in  the  morning,  having  tried  the  fish  to  his 
satisfaction.  I  realized  that  if  he  should  remain,  I 
would  not  in  the  least  know  what  to  do  with  him. 

There  was  no  possible  question  as  to  how  my  day 
must  be  spent.  There  would  be  hard  study  all  day. 
When  we  reached  our  little  library  my  mother  and  he 
returned  to  the  old  subject  which  seemed  to  be  always 
on  his  mind.  What  they  were  saying  did  not  partic 
ularly  interest  me,  but  all  at  once  Henderson  turned 
to  me : 

"  Say,  parson,  are  there  any  guid  spots  i'  the  river 
where  we  can  go  to-morrow  ?  " 

I  could  only  answer,  "  I  hope  you  will  not  consider 
me  inhospitable,  but  we  can't  find  any  spots,  good  or 
bad,  to-morrow.  I'm  out  of  it.  I  can't  give  you  and 
your  trout  one  moment." 

"  Ye  won't  go  fishin'  ?  "  he  asked  in  undisguised 
amazement. 

"No.  I'm  sorry,  but  no's  the  word.  I  have  two 
sermons  to  make  to-morrow." 

"  What !  not  go  fishin'  wi'  me  ?  Ye'll  no  get  anither 
such  a  chance  in  a  hurry.  Why,  man,  I'm  the  best 
fisherman  in  the  two  states  of  New  York  and  Pennsyl 
vania." 


78  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  That's  probably  so.  You  showed  yourself  an 
artist  this  afternoon.  But  I  can't  go.  I've  got  to 
preach  Sunday." 

"  Then  there's  some  friend  o'  yours,  like  enough  ? 
Some  man  or  boy  who  can  appreciate  his  privileeges  ?  " 

Then  I  thought  of  Tim  Wendell,  and  said,  "  Per 
haps  I  can  find  a  man.  I'll  go  out  and  see."  If  I 
could  get  these  two  men  together  I  would  do  both  of 
them  a  good  service.  I  started  for  the  door. 

"  Are  ye  afraid  to  have  me  go  too  ?  Would  I  scare 
the  man  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Scare  him  ?  "  said  I.  "  No,  he  don't  scare.  Come 
on." 

Tim  Wendell  was  not  only  the  most  intellectual 
man  in  Greenton,  but  also  the  best  rifle-shot  in  our 
whole  section,  and  I  had  seen  him,  when  deep  trolling 
in  Raquette  Lake,  land  a  trout  in  a  way  that  would 
beat  the  ordinary  guide.  Yet  he  could  not  take  a  fish 
with  the  fly  in  the  Greenton  River.  He  went  always 
to  the  little  tributaries.  I  took  Henderson's  three 
trout  along  to  show  to  Tim.  They  had  been  dressed 
and  were  very  handsome.  Amazed  at  the  three  fish, 
Wendell  eagerly  caught  at  the  chance  to  have  a  whole 
day  with  a  real  fisherman.  He  promised  to  call  for 
my  guest  at  eight  o'clock  next  morning,  and  we  said 
good-night. 

After  sitting  at  home  for  a  little,  Henderson  said: 

"  Ye'll  no  be  able  to  make  thae  sermons  wi'  me  off 
after  trout,  I  doot." 

I  answered,  "  Well,  I'll  try,  anyway." 

Very  soon  my  guest  said  good-night  to  my  mother 
in  his  courtliest  manner,  and  left  us  alone. 

I  knew  I  was  in  for  it.  I  knew  that  remark  at  the 
tea-table,  about  the  only  girl,  would  have  to  be  ex- 


AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST  TO 

plained.  I  knew  my  heart-story  must  be  told  before 
we  slept.  She  sat  down  on  the  sofa  and  pulled  me 
down  beside  her. 

"Now,  boy,"  she  said,  gently,  "what  is  it?  How- 
was  it  ?  " 

My  heart  talked  then,  though  my  lips  spoke. 

"  Mother,  she  was  Phyllis  Lorraine's  maid  of  honor. 
I  have  seen  her  on  two  occasions  only.  One  was  at 
St.  David's,  and  the  other  was  on  the  trip  with 
Mr.  Wendell  up  to  Indian  Lake  last  month."  Then 
I  told  her  the  story  of  the  drive.  "  I  learned  where 
she  resides  only  by  seeing  the  entry  on  the  cabin 
register  at  Thornton's.  She  cares  not  an  atom 
for  me.  I  was  courteous  to  her.  But  whenever  I 
made  attempts  to  show  a  real  human  interest  in  her 
and  to  arouse  an  equal  one  in  her  toward  me,  she  put 
me  off  coldly.  She  is  the  most  beautiful  woman  I 
ever  saw — young  woman,  I  mean.  You,  blessed 
mother,  you  are  not  in  this  comparison.  I  have  not 
moped,  have  I  ?  I  have  been  no  heartsick  lover. 
Long  after  St.  David's  I  thought  the  heyday  about 
marriage  had  burned  out  of  my  blood,  but  the  Indian 
Lake  drive  convinced  me  to  the  contrary.  That  night 
at  Locke's  was  the  night  of  the  restless  lover.  But  the 
ten  days  at  '  The  Castle  '  settled  it  all.  I  am  through. 
A  happy,  love-made  marriage  I  shall  never  know.  A 
sense  of  duty  to  my  people  may  induce  me  to  marry, 
but  never,  while  you  live,  mother."  And  I  never  did. 

She  kissed  me  tenderly.  "  You  are  like  your  father, 
my  boy.  He  was  a  brave  man  :  not  for  fighting,  but 
for  bearing.  But  you  are  young,  dear,  and  the  girl 
waits  for  you  somewhere  who  will  be  your  wife." 
And  that  was  true  also, 


VII 
WENDELL'S  QUEER  DAY 

WENDELL  and   Henderson  made  an  early 
start.     With  misgivings  I  saw  them  go,  for 
"Wendell's  canoe  was  one  of  those  cranky 
Adirondack  boats,  and  Henderson  was  weighty.     A 
move  too  swiftly  made  in  playing  a  trout  might  easily 
overturn  the  frail  craft.     A  dam  below  Wendell's  boat- 
house  sets  back  the  water  for  about  two  miles,  before 
it  is   met  by  a  fall  so  high  as  to  stop  all  rowing. 
Wendell  and  Henderson  paddled  easily  to  the  "carry," 
and  passed  around  with  little  delay. 

On  the  walk  up  to  the  boat-house  and  for  the  first 
two  miles  of  rowing  Henderson  was  unusually  quiet. 
He  was  watching  Wendell  and  studying  him.  But  he 
began  to  talk  almost  as  soon  as  they  were  started  in 
the  boat  beyond  the  "  carry." 

"Lived  here  some  time,  I  doot,"  was  his  first 
remark. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  answer,  "  some  time." 

"  Two  years,  four  years,  six  years  ?  " 

"  Yes,  twenty-six  years." 

"  Ye  ken  the  preacher  lang  syne,  then.  D'  ye  ken 
any  guid  o'  him  ?  " 

"  I've  known  him  from  a  little  boy.  I  never  knew 
any  bad  of  him,"  said  Tim. 

"  But  he  needs  to  be  touched  up  a  wee  bit  in  spots, 
I  doot." 

80 


WENDELL'S  QUEER  DAY  81 

"How?  Why?  What's  the  matter  with  the 
spots  ?  " 

"  Why,  man,  yon  preacher  has  spots,  dinna  ye 
ken  ?  He's  ignorant  o'  the  Scriptures.  An'  he  thinks 
works  mak'  a  man  releegious.  I  wish  I  had  your 
opportunity.  I'd  mak'  somethin'  o'  him." 

"  What  would  you  do  with  him  first  ?  " 

"I'd  marry  him  to  a  lass  I  ken.  They're  made  for 
each  ither.  He'll  have  her  some  day.  But  he's  goin' 
to  mak'  her  wait  too  long,  I  doot." 

Tim  laughed  and  answered,  "  I  don't  know  you,  and 
you  may  be  the  best  match-maker  in  the  world,  but  I 
think  you'd  find  this  particular  one  the  hardest  you 
ever  tackled." 

"  Hush  !  Hist,  man,  I'll  tackle  yon  trout.  There's 
a  big  one  juist  there.  Turn  the  boat  so  ma  shadow 
can't  fa'  on  him.  There,  hold  her  so." 

At  the  spot  they  had  reached,  the  road  runs  close  to 
the  river  on  the  north  side.  There  is  a  little  village 
there,  called  The  Falls,  and,  of  course,  a  Falls  Tavern. 
The  stream  is  swift  and  shallow  at  that  point,  while 
across  on  the  south  side  it  is  deep,  and  the  current 
pushes  up  hard  against  the  bank,  and  is  filled  with 
little  eddies.  The  shade  from  the  big  elms  on  the 
bank  above,  falls  in  the  morning  on  that  deep  current. 
Just  as  the  boat  shot  into  the  shade,  came  Henderson's 
sudden  exclamation.  Tim  manoeuvred  the  boat,  and 
the  Scotchman  made  cast  after  cast,  but  without  a 
rise.  But  he  was  not  discouraged.  He  knew  every 
trick  of  the  fisherman's  art. 

"  Put  me  ashore,"  he  ordered,  and  Wendell  obeyed. 

There  was  red  clover  in  blossom  on  the  bank,  and  a 
big  bumble-bee  buzzing  around.  Henderson  caught 
that  bee  in  his  hat,  pulled  a  darning-needle  out  of  his 


82  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

fly-case,  ran  it  through  the  bee.  made  it  fast  with  a 
horsehair,  came  back  to  the  boat,  put  the  new  device 
on  his  snell  in  place  of  the  fly,  and  made  another  cast. 
The  bee  hardly  struck  the  water  when  there  was  a 
swift  rush,  a  great  splash,  and  Henderson  had  the  fish 
hooked.  But  he  forgot  the  sort  of  boat  he  was  in, — as 
I  had  feared  he  would.  He  bent  out  a  little  too  far, 
when  the  fish  tried  to  double  on  him,  and  the  boat 
capsized. 

"Wendell  was  equal  to  the  emergency.  He  first 
righted  the  canoe,  then  managed  to  secure  the  oars, 
the  lunch-basket,  the  paddle,  and  various  other  effects, 
and  dragged  them  ashore.  Turning  to  look  for  Hen 
derson,  he  saw  him  standing  almost  up  to  his  arms  in 
water,  fighting  with  that  fish  the  greatest  trout  battle 
he  had  ever  fought.  He  backed  very  slowly  toward 
the  shallow  water,  swaying,  turning,  bending,  slipping 
on  the  stones  of  the  river  bottom,  but  his  eye  was 
never  off  his  line.  It  was  a  half  hour  before  he 
came  near  the  bank,  and  Tim  put  out  with  the  canoe 
and  landing-net,  and  the  victory  was  won.  But  Hen 
derson  was  not  only  soaked,  but  shivering,  from  his 
long  battle  in  the  cold  river. 

Tim  held  up  the  fish.  It  was  larger  than  the  one 
taken  the  night  before,  and  the  needle  was  wedged 
across  its  jaws  so  that  it  could  not  be  shaken  out. 
Henderson  looked  at  his  prize  with  intense  satisfaction 
for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "  He  was  richt,  lad,  in 
Jersey  City,  yon  time,  the  preacher  man.  I  thought 
he  was  leein',  but  he  wasna.  No,  he  wasna.  But  it's 
shiverin'  I  would  be,  I  doot." 

"  We'll  soon  fix  that,"  said  Tim.  "  There's  the  Falls 
Tavern.  It's  comfortable  there.  We'll  get  a  big  fire 
on  the  hearth,  and  hot  drinks,  which  will  set  us  right." 


WENDELL'S  QUEER  DAY  83 

"  Aye,  lad,  we'll  go  to  yon  tavern,  an'  the  hot 
fire  an'  the  hot  drinks  will  be  gey  fine — an'  we'll  put 
a  drop  of  Scotch  \yhiskey  in  the  drink.  I'm  nae 
inebriate,  but  I  ken  when  I  need  Scotch  whiskey." 

"Well,  I  guess  you've  earned  your  right  to  the 
spirits  by  your  work  in  landing  that  fish,"  was  Tim's 
generous  comment. 

"Wasna  that  fine  ?"  said  Henderson.  "I  telt  the 
preacher  laddie  that  I  was  the  best  fisherman  in  t\vo 
states.  An'  I  am.  Ye  ken  it.  Ye  couldna  hae  dune 
yon  trick." 

They  had  reached  the  tavern,  and  the  big  fire  had 
been  started.  Hot  tea  had  been  brought,  and  Hender 
son  poured  liberally  into  each  cup  from  his  own 
whiskey-flask.  The  landlord  spread  their  wet  coats  and 
woollen  shirts  close  to  the  fire,  wrapping  each  man  in  a 
big  buffalo-robe.  As  they  sat  watching  the  fire,  Hen 
derson  broke  out  all  at  once,  "  Man,  are  ye  releegious  ?  " 

Startled  by  the  abrupt  question,  Wendell  answered, 
"  That  depends  on  what  you  mean  by  religion." 

"No,  it  don't,"  the  Scotchman  almost  shouted. 
"  Ye  ken  whether  ye're  releegious  or  no,  no  matter 
what  I  mean  by  it.  Are  ye  releegious  ?  " 

"Well,"  Tim  answered,  "if  by  religion  you  mean 
'  pure  religion  before  God  even  the  Father,  which  is  to 
visit '  "  but  he  got  no  further. 

"Losh,  man,  it's  you,  then,"  he  broke  in.  "I  ken 
ye;  ye're  the  very  man.  I  hoped  ye  were.  I  thought 
ye  were.  I've  been  wan  tin'  to  get  at  ye.  Ye're  not 
a  church  member  ;  ye  mak'  no  profession  o'  releegion. 
Ye  go  talkin'  o'  works,  an'  ye've  no  releegion,  not  a 
hap'orth." 

"What  do  you  know  about  me  ?  "  Tim  said  inno 
cently. 


84  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Everything  aboot  ye.  Ye're  the  infidel,  ye're 
the  man  that  says  God  doesna  care  what  a 
man  believes.  Ye  say,  what  God  cares  aboot  is 
whether  a  man  wears  boots  too  tight  for  his  feet  or 
no." 

"  You  and  the  parson  must  have  talked  about  me 
pretty  steadily  last  night,"  said  Tim,  "  but  I  did  not 
think  he  would  call  me  an  infidel." 

"  Oh,  ye're  wrang,  all  wrang.  "We  didn't  talk  aboot 
ye  last  nicht.  I  kent  all  aboot  ye  before.  I  heard  all 
aboot  ye  last  winter  in  New  Orleans." 

Then  Tim  was  wicked.  "  My  friend,"  he  said,  "  the 
water  in  the  river,  or  the  whiskey  in  the  bottle,  has 
been  too  much  for  you.  Or  perhaps  it  is  the  fire.  I 
haven't  been  in  New  Orleans  since  before  the  war, 
and  those  who  knew  me  are  dead.  Don't  you  want  to 
lie  down  and  rest  ?  " 

"  I  rest !  "  roared  Henderson.  "  Do  I  luik  like  a  man 
that  water  can  muddle,  or  whiskey  can  addle,  or  fire 
can  faze  ?  An'  I'm  no  leein'.  I  did  hear  aboot  ye  in 
New  Orleans.  I  was  at  the  St.  Charles  Hotel  last 
winter.  At  dinner,  a  travelin'  man,  seated  at  the 
same  table  wi'  me,  began  talkin'.  I  asked  him,  as  I 
ask  almost  everyone,  if  he  was  releegious.  He  said  he 
wasna,  an'  he  only  kenned  two  men  who  were.  Then 
I  telt  him  he  might  add  another  tae  his  list,  for  I  was, 
an'  probably  more  so  than  either  of  his  two.  When  I 
asked  him  who  they  were,  he  said  they  both  lived  in 
Greenton,  and  one  o'  them  was  you.  That  young 
man's  name  was  Joe  Smith.  What  hae  ye  to  say 
noo  ?  "  he  ended  triumphantly.  "  Are  ma  brains 
diluted,  or  is  ma  truth  drunk  ?  " 

Tim  did  not  know  just  what  to  say,  and  before  his 
answer  was  ready,  Henderson  resumed  : 


WENDELL'S  QUEER  DAY  85 

"  Floored  ye!  Got  ye  on  the  first  cast !  Dinna  ye 
ken  ye'll  never  go  to  heaven  ?  " 

Then  Tim  answered  quickly  enough,  "  I  don't  want 
to  go  to  the  heaven  you  are  thinking  of." 

"  Dinna  want  to  ?  Dinna  want  to  go  to  heaven  ? 
Why  ?  Tell  me  that,  man  ;  why,  now  ?  " 

"  Because  I  prefer  to  have  heaven  come  to  me," 
Tim  retorted.  "  I  want  to  fasten  on  a  good  large 
piece  of  heaven  before  I  die,  then  I  can  take  it  along 
with  me.  See  ?  " 

"  No,  I  dinna  see.  Ye'll  never  go  to  heaven,  Mr. 
Wendell.  Ye're  a  lost  soul.  Ye're  an  infidel." 

Tim  thought  to  humor  his  companion,  for  he  was 
enjoying  the  whole  episode.  So  he  answered,  "  Per 
haps  I  never  shall  get  into  heaven,  as  you  say,  but  I'm 
getting  a  good  bit  of  heaven  into  me  every  day.  What 
do  you  mean  by  an  infidel  ?  The  word  means  unfaith 
ful.  I'm  not  unfaithful  to  my  wife,  or  my  family,  or 
my  business,  or  my  creditors,  which  is  more  than  can 
be  said  for  many  Christians.  What  is  a  Christian  ? 
Do  you  know  ?  " 

Henderson  began  to  get  a  little  warm.  "  Do  I  ken  ? 
Who  does,  if  I  dinna  ?  A  Christian  is  a  man  who's 
got  releegion ;  a  man  who  professes  Christianity,  ye 
ken ;  a  man  who  belongs  to  the  church  and  kens  his 

catechism  ;  a  man "  and  he  would  have  continued, 

but  Tim  was  laughing  so  loudly  he  couldn't  finish. 
Henderson  gave  him  a  look  of  infinite  pity,  and  then 
said,  "  Are  ye  dry  ?  " 

"  No,"  Tim  answered,  "  I  drank  enough  tea  and 
whiskey,  and  I  have  that  boat  to  paddle  home,  and  I'm 
not  going  to  try  to  do  it,  drunk." 

"  Tea  and  whiskey  ?  What's  that  to  do  with  your 
bein'  dry  or  no  bein'  dry  ?  "  he  said.  "  If  ye're  dry,  I 


86  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

want  to  see  ye  cast  for  trout  over  yonder.  I  hear 
ye're  a  great  fisherman.  Ye  may  be,  but  ye're  no  so 
guid  as  I,  an'  ye're  a  mighty  poor  boatman." 

"  All  right,"  said  Tim.  "  I'll  try  to  find  a  safer 
boat."  He  did  not  relish  the  thought  of  being  dumped 
into  the  stream  again. 

Henderson  was  quick  as  a  lawyer  with  his  objection. 
"  But  yon  boat  is  safe  enough.  Ye're  the  only 
unsafe  element  in  this  excursion.  An'  ye  a  fisher 
man,  an'  afraid  of  a  little  water !  I  dinna  care  if  ye 
did  capsize  me  wi'  your  blunderin'.  I'll  row  the  little 
boatie,  an'  ye  do  the  castin',  an'  I'll  no  tip  ye  oot,  as 
ye  did  me.  I'm  a  better  oarsman  than  ye,  I  doot." 

But  Tim  was  inflexible,  and  the  Scotchman,  growl 
ing,  assented  at  last.  Tim  found  an  old  flat-bottomed 
boat,  and  gave  Henderson  the  oars.  He  rowed  up 
stream  for  a  mile,  and  then,  holding  the  boat  steady 
with  the  oars,  let  her  drift  slowly  on  the  current. 

"  Now  show  what  ye  can  do,"  he  ordered.  Tim  cast, 
and  cast,  and  cast,  trying  fly  after  fly,  but  in  vain. 
Not  a  trout  rose.  They  had  floated  halfway  back  to 
the  Falls  Tavern,  when  Henderson  suddenly  began 
pulling  up-stream  again  until  he  reached  the  spot  where 
Tim  had  begun.  Then  he  dropped  the  oars  and  took 
up  his  own  rod,  adjusting  a  fly  and  a  dropper.  "  Look 
here,"  he  said,  "ye  unbeliever;  I'll  show  ye  how  to 
cast."  Back  went  his  arm  ;  out  went  the  line  ;  those 
two  flies  dropped  down  on  the  water  as  if  they  were 
real  living  things.  Not  an  inch  of  the  line  touched 
the  water  anywhere.  As  he  began  to  skim  the  flies 
back  toward  him,  there  were  two  breaks  in  the  water. 
He  struck  with  beautiful  skill.  His  reel  whizzed  for  a 
minute,  as  if  the  fish  would  go  off  with  all  his  line  in 
spite  of  him.  Carefully  he  touched  the  drag  and 


WENDELL'S  QUEER  DAY  87 

began  to  play  his  fisb.  He  bad  two  fast.  As  he 
brought  tbem  in,  he  said,  "  Oh,  ye  beauties,  ye  ken  the 
difference  t \vixt  a  Christian  an'  an  infidel."  Placing 
them  in  his  creel,  he  cast  again  with  the  same  mar 
velous  skill,  getting  the  same  reward. 

Then  Tim  spoke:  "Mr.  Henderson,  you  beat  the 
world.  I  give  up  all  pretensions.  I  have  never  seen 
your  equal  with  rod  and  reel." 

Henderson  interrupted  him.  "  Man,  didna  I  tell  ye 
so  ?  Ye  didna  believe  it  whiles.  But  I  kent  it,  man, 
I  kent  it." 

Tim  paid  no  attention  to  the  conceit.  He  went  on, 
"  I  can  take  trout  in  the  brooks,  but  none  in  this  river. 
You  are  a  wizard.  You  call  me  infidel.  I'll  call  you 
a  Scotch  wizard." 

"  Man,  I'm  a  Christian.  I'm  no  wizard.  Doesna  the 
guid  Buik  say,  '  A  man  that  hath  a  familiar  speerit, 
or  that  is  a  wizard,  shall  surely  be  put  to  death '  ? 
I  haena  a  familiar  speerit,  an'  I  amna  a  wizard, 
or  I  wad  hae  been  put  to  death.  But  I'm  a  great 
fisherman." 

"  That  you  are,"  said  Tim.  "  Come,  cast  again  now, 
in  that  eddy  there." 

But  Henderson  would  not.  He  answered,  "  Nae,  I 
must  na.  We've  enough  for  the  day.  It's  no  weel  to 
kill  too  many." 

Tim  begged  to  try  just  once  more.  "  Let  me  see 
you  do  it  once  more.  Perhaps  I  can  learn." 

"  Na,  ye  canna  learn.  Ye're  no  fisherman.  Ye  cast 
very  pretty  like,  but  ye're  not  a  Christian.  I  am. 
D'  ye  ken  that  a  fish  is  the  sign  o'  Christianity  ? " 

Lying  down  on  his  back  in  that  old  scow,  Tim 
Wendell  laughed  until  he  was  tired.  Then  he  said, 
"  Mr.  Henderson,  you're  worth  while.  I  wish  you 


88  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

were  a  preacher.     I'd  go  to  hear  you.     I  would,  on  my 
honor." 

"  Hoots,  man !  Infidels  have  no  honor,"  and  he 
picked  up  the  oars  and  rowed  back  to  the  Falls 
Tavern. 


VIII 

MY  JABBOK 

MY  sermons  were  never  made.  The  day 
passed,  leaving  no  results  in  form  of  prep 
aration  for  the  service  of  the  Sabbath. 
My  brain  had  baffled  me.  It  would  not  obey  the 
behests  of  the  will  and  act  in  lines  coherent  and  re 
lated.  Henderson  had  come  in  just  at  nightfall,  and 
presently  tea  was  served.  He  wanted  to  talk.  That 
his  story  of  the  day  would  be  worth  hearing,  I  well 
knew.  But,  too  absorbed  in  self  to  be  an  interested 
listener  to  the  best  of  stories,  I  was  only  able  to  main 
tain  creditably  an  external  courtesy,  and  as  soon  as 
supper  was  over  I  excused  myself,  in  spite  of  his  pro 
tests,  and,  leaving  him  to  my  mother,  shut  the  door  of 
the  study  upon  the  whole  outside  world.  If  it  had 
been  possible  to  escape  from  the  duty  of  preaching 
next  day,  I  would  have  done  it.  Such  a  thought  was 
folly.  The  hours  were  relentless.  To-morrow  was 
coming  fast,  and  my  weary  brain  was  at  the  point  of 
frenzy.  A  crisis  of  some  sort  was  at  hand,  and, 
illogically  enough,  I  fancied  Henderson  to  be  the  cause. 
That  made  me  almost  hate  him. 

I  did  not  understand  clearly  then  what  I  was  to 
learn  later,  that  psychologic  moments  for  upheaval  or 
for  crystallizations  of  life  and  character  must  come. 
One  of  these  moments  had  come  that  night  to  me. 

To  account  for  the  experiences  of  that  night  is  even 

89 


90  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

now  difficult.  My  brain  was  not  under  the  spell  of 
any  hallucination.  Logic  is  one  thing.  Its  laws  we 
know.  But  the  psychologic  is  vastly  different.  Some 
of  its  phenomena  defy  law.  To  me,  sitting  alone,  my 
life  and  the  bearing  of  it  on  the  church  in  Greenton 
were  the  only  subjects  that  the  mind  presented.  My 
pastorate  of  that  church  had  lasted  now  for  almost 
three  years ;  but  the  results  shown  by  those  years, 
along  spiritual  lines,  had  been  but  meagre.  Every 
thing  moved  as  everything  had  done  during  the  years 
preceding  my  installation.  Now  and  then  there  were 
accessions  enough  to  the  church,  by  letter,  to  keep  the 
membership  undiminished  in  spite  of  natural  losses. 
But  there  were  no  conversions.  Of  course,  this  had 
troubled  me  much.  There  were  hours  at  "  The  Castle 
of  Indolence,"  while  Tim  would  be  off  alone  with  his 
gun,  when  no  thoughts  would  come  to  mind  but  of 
the  spiritual  conditions  in  the  church.  But  these 
hours  of  introspection  brought  no  satisfaction.  The 
religious  condition  of  the  town  had  been  in  my  thought 
through  the  whole  winter.  But  no  plan  for  effecting 
betterment  had  appeared.  All  that  day  I  had  worked 
in  vain.  Sermon-thought  would  not  come.  Com 
mentaries  and  books  of  sermons  had  served  no  pur 
pose.  Many  pages,  destroyed  almost  as  soon  as  writ 
ten,  had  been  of  no  avail.  The  only  sentence  that 
memory  has  kept,  out  of  that  day's  suffering,  is  one 
which  all  day  long  kept  ringing  in  my  ears  as  if 
spoken  by  a  voice,  "  Your  church  is  spiritually  dead, 
and  your  ministry  is  a  failure."  The  change  to  the 
supper-table  had  brought  no  relief,  and,  now  that  it 
was  past,  the  dull,  heavy  grind  of  the  day  began 
again.  The  effort  to  work  had  just  begun  when  a 
knock  at  mv  door  called  me. 


MY  JABBOK  91 

"Is  that  you,  mother?"  I  asked. 

"  Does  a  knock  so  big  as  mine  sound  like  a  woman's  ? 
I'm  no  your  mither,  I  doot." 

"  Oh,  it's  Mr.  Henderson,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Who  else  would  it  be  but  me  ?  "  he  answered. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Come  oot,  man.  Let  me  enliven  ye  wi'  a  wee  bit 
conversation." 

"  No  :  it's  too  bad  to  seem  discourteous,  but  there's 
work  to  be  done  now." 

"It'll  be  bonnie  the  nicht  on  yon  porch,  wi'  the 
cigars,  I  doot." 

"  Yes,  bonnie  for  you,  good  friend."  My  voice 
sounded  unnatural  to  me.  "  But  not  for  me.  You 
must  excuse  me.  There's  work  to  be  done." 

"  An'  ye'll  no  burn  incense  for  an  hour  ?  Incense 
to  old  Izaak,  ye  ken  ?  "  Then  he  added,  "  Man,  ye're 
takin'  life  too  hard.  Ye'll  never  succeed  in  this  way. 
Ye're  law-breakin'  if  ye  work  the  nicht." 

"What  laws?"  I  asked  impatiently.  More  than 
before  I  was  charging  my  wretched  failure  of  the  day 
to  David  Henderson. 

"  The  law  of  work,  man,"  he  answered.  "  Doesna  the 
Scripture  say, '  Work  while  the  day  lasts  '  ?  Ye  worked 
the  day,  an'  ye'll  be  wrang  if  ye  work  the  nicht." 

"Well,"  said  I  testily,  "it's  better  to  be  wrong 
to-night  working,  and  right  to-morrow  preaching, 
than  right  to-night  smoking,  and  wrong  to-morrow 
from  failing  in  my  pulpit.  I  must  write  one  sermon 
to-night." 

"  Do  ye  read  your  sermons  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Yes." 

"An'  there  ye're  contrary  to  Scripture,  too,"  he 
said. 


92  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  How  ?     What  Scripture  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  Scripture  says,  '  he  that  runneth  may 
read,'  and  ye  can't  run  in  the  pulpit,  man.  Ye  may 
storm  around  a  bit,  but  ye  canna  run." 

And  with  that  I  laughed  for  the  first  time  that  day. 

"  You  are  beyond  me,"  I  said.  "  But  I  can't  join 
you.  Go  smoke.  Go  burn  your  incense.  There's 
work  to  be  done."  And  at  that  he  went  away. 

All  that  talk  had  been  through  the  closed  door.  I 
did  not  dare  to  open  it,  knowing  well  that  would 
mean  yielding  to  his  temptation.  So  the  door  re 
mained  shut,  and  I  remained  there  alone  with  my 
misery. 

When  he  had  gone,  ray  first  impulse  was  to  analyze 
the  situation — to  seek  the  cause  of  the  unspiritual 
church.  Was  it  so  because  of  an  unspiritual  member 
ship,  or  must  the  secret  be  found  in  my  own  soul  ? 
Was  that  unspiritual  ?  There  came  the  sudden  con 
sciousness  that  a  court  of  judgment  had  been  opened 
in  my  life,  of  which  I  was  both  judge  and  jury,  and 
that  conscience  as  accuser  stood  before  the  judgment 
seat  to  arraign  me. 

"  Begone,"  I  cried,  but  the  stern  prosecutor  would 
not  be  deterred  from  duty  by  my  bluster. 

Steadily  she  pressed  the  charge  : — "  You,  yourself, 
have  not  been  a  spiritually  minded  man." 

The  indictment  made  me  recoil  in  spiritual  pain. 
For  a  little  time  the  conflict  was  intense,  my  whole 
nature  protesting.  "No,  no,  no  !  I  am  not  unspiritual." 
In  the  midst  of  the  struggle  a  picture  framed  itself 
clearly  upon  my  mental  background.  A  long  valley 
lay  between  rough  and  towering  mountains.  A  stream, 
swift  and  turbulent,  brawled  through  it.  The  hour 
was  midnight,  and  the  moon  had  not  yet  risen  above 


MY  JABBOK  93 

the  enclosing  heights.  By  the  bank  of  the  stream,  a 
man  was  pacing  nervously  under  the  stars.  His  head 
was  bowed.  His  hands  were  clasped  behind  him. 
His  step  was  regular  and  strong,  but  he  paused  at  in 
tervals,  as  if  debating  some  great  question.  Suddenly 
out  of  the  darkness  another  figure  arose  unsummoned, 
and  was  upon  the  midnight  pacer  with  an  onset  vio 
lent  as  that  of  a  mortal  foe.  For  hours  the  two  men 
struggled  without  advantage  to  either,  now  down  to 
the  very  bank  of  the  stream,  now  back  again  into  the 
darker,  deeper  shadows  of  the  giant  oaks.  There 
could  be  no  mistaking  the  picture.  It  was  Jacob  and 
his  mysterious  foe.  It  was  myself  and  my  accusing 
conscience.  I  paced  the  room,  trying  thus  to  drive 
away  memory  and  imagination. 

"  This  is  a  morbid  waking  dream,"  I  said,  but  it 
would  not  go.  A  voice  kept  sounding  through  me, 
"  This  is  your  Jabbok.  Before  the  morning  dawns, 
you  will  have  had  your  struggle  and  your  defeat  or 
victory."  And  below  this  growing  conviction  was  an 
other  deeper  one — the  conviction  that  the  end  would 
determine  my  whole  after  ministry. 

To  take  the  Bible  and  reread  the  thrilling  story  was 
the  work  of  but  a  few  minutes.  Its  import  struck 
home  then  for  the  first  time.  Here  was  the  story  of 
the  soul  that  achieves  conquest  over  itself.  Again  I 
saw  the  man ;  saw  him  through  those  long  night 
hours ;  saw  him  as  the  day  broke,  when  victory  came. 
At  night  he  had  been  beset  with  fears,  and  the  coward 
spirit  made  him  dread  that  sure-coming  morrow.  In 
the  dawning  he  was  calm  and  ready  for  what  that 
morrow  would  bring.  Once  more  I  read  the  story, 
and  read  it  yet  again,  and  then,  as  if  I  myself  were  the 
lone  struggler,  I  fell  upon  my  knees. 


94  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"What  was  this  ?  "Was  it  reaction  from  an  over 
worked  brain  ?  Was  it  morbid  sensibility  clutching 
at  nerves  overstrung  in  moments  of  introspection  ? 
"Would  those  nerves  snap  presently  and  leave  me  like 
a  violin  of  which  the  strings  were  broken  ?  Little  by 
little  the  tension  lessened.  Slowly  there  came  the 
consciousness  that  self-upbraiding  for  spiritual  failures 
was  worse  than  useless.  God  wanted  of  me  construc 
tion,  and  not  remorse.  Keproaches  would  not  undo 
the  errors  of  the  past  three  years.  It  was  not  weep 
ing  passion,  but  courageous  action,  that  God  would 
have.  My  sinful  omissions  had  not  made  others  suf 
fer,  save  that  in  this  one  matter  of  personal  work  with 
sinners  I  had  allowed  souls  to  go  out  into  the  invisible 
loneliness  without  an  insistent  effort  to  save  them.  I 
had  defrauded  no  one,  as  had  that  wrestler  in  the 
mountain  gorge,  nor  had  I,  like  him,  been  false  in  word 
to  any.  No  one  could  point  to  my  example  in  public 
action,  nor  in  personal  habit,  and  say,  "  You  started 
me  in  evil." 

But  in  spite  of  all  that,  conscience  was  facing  me 
like  a  stern  accuser.  One  by  one  my  public  perform 
ances  passed  in  review ;  none  could  accuse  me  of 
slighting  or  neglecting  them.  Yet  conscience  recked 
not  of  these  things,  but,  like  a  sword,  plunged  herself 
to  the  hilt  into  my  soul.  The  names  and  faces  of  men 
rose  before  me — men  who  should  have  been  rebuked, 
but  had  not  been,  because  I  had  not  dared.  There 
was  Mr.  Hobart,  who  should  not  have  been  received 
into  the  church  until  he  had  given  evidence  that  he 
had  consecrated  himself  to  Jesus  Christ.  His  recep 
tion  into  membership  had  only  brought  reproach  upon 
religion,  since  people  knew  he  was  pretending  to  be 
what  he  was  not.  There  was  Elder  Harfis,  growing 


MY  JABBOK  95 

rich  and  mean  at  the  same  time,  while  men  were  openly 
questioning  which  would  be  the  greater,  his  riches  or 
his  meanness.  No  word  had  been  said  to  him.  Nor 
had  I  confronted  Elder  Martin  with  the  fact  that  there 
were  people  who  would  not  partake  of  the  communion, 
lest  they  might  be  compelled  to  receive  the  bread  and 
wine  from  his  hands ;  people  who  had  not  even  been 
present  on  our  sacramental  days  through  my  whole 
ministry,  because  they  knew  his  immoral  life  and 
worthlessness.  For  these  things  conscience  came  upon 
me,  as  a  pack  of  hounds  swoops  down  upon  a  fox 
driven  from  cover,  and  it  was  clear  she  meant  to  bring 
these  sins  to  their  death-hour  in  my  life.  I  trembled 
before  conscience,  for  I  was  afraid. 

Oh,  those  hours  upon  my  knees,  alone!  Hot  tears 
rained  clown  my  face,  while  the  night  wore  slowly  on. 
The  sounds  of  Saturday  night  in  our  little  city  had 
grown  still.  The  country  people  had  driven  away  to 
their  homes.  The  shoppers  from  the  foundry  and  the 
mills  had  bought  their  week's  supplies  and  gone  to 
their  beds.  The  giddy  girls  who  floated  along  the 
streets  in  search  of  something  exciting,  enlivening,  or 
laugh-awakening,  had  gone  their  ways.  The  lights 
were  going  out  here  and  there.  I  stood  before  my 
window  now,  and  saw  men  come  out  of  Bob's  tavern. 
Jimmie  MacJSTaughton  went  shambling  past  my  house 
toward  his  home,  moving  like  a  vessel  on  an  unquiet 
sea.  Poor  Jimmie !  "Remonstrance  had  helped  him 
none.  He  needed  to  be  taken  with  a  strong  hand  and 
told,  "  You  must  leave  whiskey  alone,  or  leave  the  sac 
ramental  bread  and  wine  alone."  The  outlook  from 
the  window  was  no  relief.  I  turned  once  again  to  my 
chair  and  to  my  knees.  But  this  time  my  face  was 
lifted  to  God,  and  the  song  of  the  Psalmist  was  on  my 


96  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

lips,  "I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills  from 
whence  cometh  my  help."  And  blended  with  it 
strangely  enough  was  the  prayer  of  the  publican, — 
"  God  be  merciful  to  me,  a  sinner." 

Soon  there  came  an  awful  sense  of  how  long  a  lonely 
night  can  be.  Nights  of  gentle  sleep,  when  health  is 
perfect  and  no  dull  care  disturbs,  pass  like  the  swift 
movements  of  the  dreams  that  flit  through  them.  But 
nights  when  every  string  of  the  soul  is  keyed  to  its 
last  ability  to  bear;  when  sleep  has  fled  to  other  hearts 
where  tension  is  unknown ;  when  God  has  laid  His 
wrestling  hand  upon  a  life  and  brought  it  to  know 
that  its  crucial  hour  has  come — nights  such  as  these 
are  foretastes  of  a  pain-filled  eternity.  They  are  the 
monuments  of  great  soul  crises ;  and  this  was  mine. 
Abraham's  "  horror  of  great  darkness  "  was  the  hour 
when  the  "  burning  lamp  and  the  smoking  furnace 
passed  between  the  pieces"  of  his  sacrifice,  but  it  was 
the  hour  also  of  the  great  Covenant  of  Jehovah. 
This  was  my  horror  of  great  darkness,  and  out  of  it 
came  my  covenant  of  power. 

I  went  once  more  to  the  window.  The  lights  were 
out  in  Bob's  tavern  now.  There  would  be  no  more 
wretches  sent  out  reeling  into  the  night  to  find  their 
way  to  homes  cursed  by  the  poverty  which  their  drink 
ing  made.  A  sense  of  the  vastness  of  God's  universe 
came  over  me,  and  called  me  out  under  the  open  sky. 
It  was  long  past  midnight.  Not  a  cloud  fleece  was 
anywhere.  Stars,  stars,  stars !  How  far  away  they 
were  !  I  wondered  that  men  ever  came  to  know  them, 
and  that  human  genius  had  been  able  to  make  them 
reveal  the  history  of  their  origin.  Then  came  with 
overpowering  force  the  thought  that  their  origin  was 
in  the  creative  word  of  God.  And  this  was  He  whom 


MY  JABBOK  97 

men  say  they  love  and  serve ;  this  was  He  for  whom 
ray  own  service  had  been  so  poor ;  this  was  He  who 
had  become  manifest  in  the  flesh  that  out  of  that  mani 
festation  man  might  be  saved.  Out  under  the  stars 
on  Greenton  Common,  with  the  church  rising  on  my 
left  hand  and  Bob's  tavern  down  there  on  my  right, 
symbols  of  good  and  evil  over  against  each  other,  I 
cast  myself  down  on  the  ground  by  a  little  elm  which 
Wendell  had  planted  the  day  of  my  installation.  At 
the  foot  of  that  strange  oratory  I  pleaded  with  God 
as  never  before.  The  sense  of  time  and  place  passed. 
To  my  ears,  almost  oblivious  to  all  things  of  sense, 
there  came  suddenly  the  sound  of  footsteps  ;  before  my 
eyes  there  rose  out  of  the  darkness  the  figure  of  a  man 
coming  toward  me — the  figure  of  Joe  Smith.  But  he 
was  not  in  Greenton.  Was  my  brain  reeling?  Be 
lieving  it  an  apparition,  and  in  superstitious  dread,  I 
ran  with  all  speed  back  into  the  house,  up  to  my  own 
room,  and  threw  myself  down  by  the  bed,  praying, 
crying  again,  "  Oh,  that  I  knew  where  I  might  find 
Him,"  yet  knowing  that  it  was  He  Himself  struggling 
with  me  for  the  entire  mastery  over  my  will.  I  longed 
with  great  longing  to  surrender,  but  my  stubborn  will 
would  not  yield.  Agony — agony — agony,  in  every 
fibre  of  my  being.  The  only  refuge  was  in  prayer, 
and  the  more  earnest  the  prayer  the  deeper  was  the 
agony.  I  cried  for  forgiveness,  but  knew  the  cry  in 
adequate.  Then  a  voice  seemed  to  say,  "  It  is  not  for 
giveness  that  you  need,  but  to  be  panoplied  for  the 
struggle  to  which  you  are  being  called  in  this  hour  of 
the  unseen  cross.  It  is  not  forgiveness,  but  the  great 
indwelling  in  your  whole  being  of  the  Almighty  God. 
Cry  for  His  blessing.  Cry  for  His  power."  Then  I 
obeyed. 


98  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

In  at  my  window  came  the  first  gray  streaks  of 
dawn.  Surely  the  crisis  was  at  hand,  if  this  was 
Jabbok.  If  the  day  came  and  my  struggle  had  not 
ended  in  victory,  my  case  was  hopeless.  My  ministry 
in  Greenton  would  have  to  end,  a  thought  that  brought 
new  grief.  And  then : — oh,  wonderful,  but  true ! 
there  fell  upon  my  spiritual  ears  the  sound  of  the 
same  voice  that  Jacob  heard,  "  Let  me  go,  for  the 
day  breaketh,"  and  I  answered,  too  filled  with  emotion 
to  more  than  whisper,  "  I  will  not  let  Thee  go,  except 
Thou  bless  me."  And  then,  suddenly,  peace  like  a  river 
flowed  into  my  heart.  I  knew  that  my  Jabbok,  like 
Jacob's,  had  ended  in  victory. 

My  mother  waked  me.  She  had  come  softly  into 
the  room,  and  was  standing  over  the  bed.  The  sun 
was  streaming  in  at  the  window.  "  You  sleep  soundly 
this  morning,  dear  boy,"  she  said.  "  You  must  have 
been  up  late." 

"  Yes,  mother,  later  than  usual." 

"  Is  it  all  right  ?  Are  you  ready  for  the  day  ?  "  she 
asked  tenderly. 

"  Yes,  it  is  all  right.     I  am  all  ready." 

Then  saying,  "  Breakfast  is  waiting,"  she  kissed  me 
and  was  gone. 


IX 

NO  BENEDICTION  SUNDAY 

THE  church  was  packed.  Every  place  where 
a  person  could  sit  was  filled.  Men  who  had 
not  been  in  church  for  years  were  there. 
People  of  other  congregations  had  left  their  own 
churches  for  the  day.  The  galleries  had  not  a  single 
vacant  seat.  In  the  pew  with  the  dear  mother  were 
Mr.  Henderson  ;  a  burly  gentleman  who,  though  an 
entire  stranger  to  me,  was  evidently  known  to  my 
guest,  as  they  were  whispering  together ;  and  Joe 
Smith,  whose  presence  startled  me,  while  it  confirmed 
the  impression  made  upon  me  while  I  knelt  by  the  elm 
under  the  stars.  That  he  should  be  in  Greenton  was 
not  strange,  but  that  he  should  have  been  out  on  the 
Common  after  one  o'clock  at  night  was  a  puzzle. 

The  cause  of  the  crowd  was  Henderson.  A  certain 
countryman,  driving  into  Greenton,  had  passed  the 
spot  where  the  canoe  upset,  just  as  Wendell  had 
dragged  his  boat  ashore.  A  word  or  two  had  put  this 
farmer  in  possession  of  the  story,  and  he  had  repeated 
it  at  Bobrs  tavern ;  so  the  whole  town  knew  it.  The 
crowd  had  gathered  to  see  Henderson,  and  not  to  hear 
a  sermon. 

And  yet,  though  my  guest  was  the  occasion,  the 
cause  was  of  God.  He  was  about  to  give  me  a  great 
opportunity.  This  was  another  phase  of  the  wonders 
of  the  last  twelve  hours.  My  crisis  had  passed. 
Greenton's  was  about  to  come. 

99 


100  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

Just  before  sermon-time,  Tim  Wendell  entered, 
bringing  a  chair,  which  he  placed  in  the  aisle  near  the 
entrance.  That  pleased  me  greatly,  for  it  was  wholly 
unusual,  and  he  had  come  without  solicitation. 

The  experience  of  the  night  had  given  me  the  text 
that  I  announced  :  Isaiah  21 :  11,  12,  "  Watchman, 
what  of  the  night  ?  The  watchman  said,  The  morning 
cometh."  To  recall  the  words  of  the  address  now,  after 
many  years,  is  impossible.  But  I  remember  its  general 
trend.  Its  beginning  and  ending  are  indelibly  fixed. 

"  For  three  years,  nearly,  I  have  been  with  this 
church  as  pastor ;  I  have  never  seen  such  a  sight  as 
greets  me  this  morning.  I  have  as  a  watchman 
watched  the  ways  and  acts  of  this  whole  community, 
but  have  seen  nothing  to  make  me  expect  such  a 
congregation  as  is  gathered  here  to  day.  Do  not  for 
one  moment  suppose  that  your  preacher  thinks  this  is 
a  tribute  to  him  or  his  power.  He  knows  better. 
You  have  assembled,  not  because  you  have  a  burning 
desire  to  hear  the  gospel,  but  because  you  wish  to  see 
a  man  who  has  done  unusual  things  here  in  the  last 
two  days.  That  wish  I  propose  to  gratify  now.  He 
is  here  in  church,  just  as  you  expected,  but  you  did 
not  anticipate  the  good  opportunity  I  am  about  to  give 
you."  Bending  over  to  my  guest,  I  said,  "  Mr. 
Henderson,  these  people  have  gathered  here  to  see 
you.  They  care  nothing  at  all  about  a  sermon  to-day. 
Will  you  please  stand  up  ?  " 

Henderson  promptly  complied,  and  to  my  surprise 
began  to  speak.  "  I  am  a  Presbyterian,"  he  said,  "  an 
elder  in  a  Presbyterian  church.  I  am  glad  to  see  so 
large  a  congregation.  I  have  been  told  your  preacher 
is  a  guid  man,  though  not  much  of  a  sermonizer  ;  but 
if  he  keeps  on  as  he  has  begun  this  morning,  he  will 


NO  BENEDICTION  SUNDAY  101 

give  us  something  to  think  of  that  we  have  never  had 
before,  I  doot." 

Having  spoken  thus,  he  resumed  his  seat,  and  I  my 
address. 

"  Mr.  Henderson  has  aided  me  unwittingly.  He 
has  just  now  done  so  unusual  a  thing  as  to  strengthen 
my  opinion  that  we  will  all  remember  this  day  as  the 
most  unusual  in  the  history  of  the  Greenton  Presby 
terian  Church.  Let  me  repeat  the  cry  of  the  text, 
'  Watchman,  what  of  the  night  ?  '  It  is  with  great 
regret  that  I  omit  the  answer,  '  The  morning  cometh.' 
That  which  must  be  said  is, '  The  night  is  long  and  the 
hours  are  dark.'  Let  no  one  go  away  to-day  saying, 
'  The  preacher  must  have  had  a  bad  night ' ;  or '  He  had 
the  blues  ' ;  or  '  He  has  been  a  great  scolder  to-day.' 
No  one  of  those  things  is  true.  The  preacher's  last 
night  was  the  most  blessed  of  all  his  life  ;  there  are  no 
depressions  in  his  soul  this  morning ;  there  are  im 
pressions  deep  and  strong  ;  not  a  word  that  shall  be 
spoken  will  be  in  the  spirit  of  the  scold.  The  words 
of  the  hour  will  be  plain,  probably  fearfully  plain, 
but  out  of  a  heart  that  loves  you  with  its  every 
pulsation.  This  is  the  turning  point  in  this  pastorate. 
To-day  will  see  the  morning  begin  to  come,  or  it  will 
mark  the  beginning  of  the  end  between  you  and  me." 

I  paused  a  moment.  I  saw  that  my  mother  was 
very  pale,  and  that  Henderson's  face  was  fixed  on 
mine  with  a  tremendous  earnestness,  while  his  little 
Scotch  eyes  were  open  wider  than  I  supposed  possible. 
The  house  was  intensely  still. 

The  next  words  would  have  been  heard  almost  if 
they  had  been  whispered.  "  The  night  is  long,  and 
the  hours  are  dark.  For  twenty  years  there  has  not 
been  a  single  spiritual  movement  in  this  church.  We 


102  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

have  all  of  us  for  the  past  three  years  been  in  a 
spiritual  stupor. 

"  About  eight  months  ago,  toward  the  last  of  Oc 
tober,  three  men,  strangers  to  each  other,  happened  to 
sit  at  night  in  adjoining  chairs  on  the  veranda  of  a  hotel 
in  the  city  of  New  Orleans.  One  was  from  Massa 
chusetts  ;  one  from  Pennsylvania ;  the  third  from  Vir 
ginia.  One  was  a  Presbyterian ;  one  was  an  Episco 
palian  ;  the  last  was  a  go-as-you-please,  free-and-easy 
man  of  the  world,  who  strangely  enough  turned  the 
conversation  into  religious  channels,  and,  drawing 
from  his  own  experience,  said  that  church  members  as 
a  rule  were  shams.  He  declared  he  knew  only  two 
men  who  were  what  he  called  religious  ;  one  of  them 
made  no  profession  of  religion,  and  would  not  even  go 
to  church,  and  was  regarded  by  his  fellow-townsmen 
as  a  lost  sinner.  Naturally,  a  hot  discussion  followed 
such  a  speech.  The  other  two  men  declared  he  was 
not  right,  but  he  stuck  to  his  proposition.  He  said  he 
knew  a  church  which  lately  had  been  joined  by  a  man 
who  had  no  more  religion  than  an  oyster :  he  gave  his 
name,  told  where  he  lived,  said  he  was  intemperate, 
profane,  and  a  religious  humbug  generally.  He  in 
sisted  that  this  man,  as  far  as  he  could  see,  was  a  fair 
sample  of  the  church  member.  One  of  the  others 
combated  this  with  such  earnestness  that  the  con 
versation  lasted  until  midnight,  and  ended  without 
reaching  any  settled  conclusion.  That's  the  way  with 
discussions,  as  a  rule.  The  more  men  discuss  any 
proposition,  the  tighter  will  each  participant  hold  to 
his  own  opinions. 

"Do  not  think  this  a  preacher's  romance.  Truth  is 
not  more  true.  I  could  give  you  the  names  of  the  men 
I  speak  of.  I  have  said  that  they  settled  nothing. 


NO  BENEDICTION  SUNDAY  103 

But  what  they  failed  to  settle,  I  myself  have  settled. 
The  indictment  brought  by  the  non-church-member  was 
both  true  and  false. 

"  It  was  false  because  he  does  not  know  all  churches 
and  all  towns.  The  town  of  which  he  spoke  was 
small  enough  for  him  to  have  a  fair  knowledge  of  its 
people,  or  at  least  of  its  business  people.  In  that  very 
town  there  are  some  devoutly  pious,  holy  women,  and 
probably  one  or  two  men  in  every  one  of  its  churches 
who  are  really  religious  men.  But  the  fearful  indict 
ment,  after  all  its  falsity  is  allowed,  is  yet  far  too 
true ;  and  of  Greenton,  as  I  know,  it  is  very  true. 

"  Ever  since  I  learned  of  that  New  Orleans  episode 
I  have  been  watching  the  people  of  this  town.  There's 
many  a  professor  of  religion  among  you  who  does  not 
possess  a  particle  of  it,  judging  by  your  lives.  There 
are  men  here,  just  like  that  one  of  whom  the  New 
Orleans  stranger  spoke — men  with  no  more  religion 
than  an  oyster." 

Again  I  paused.  Wendell's  face  was  fairly  shining. 
He  was  leaning  forward,  listening  intently.  There 
was  a  rustle  of  people  moving  for  rest,  then  once  more 
dead  silence. 

"  Don't  forget,"  I  went  on,  "  that  church-membership 
and  salvation  are  not  identical.  Salvation  means  that 
a  man  has  been  saved  out  of  and  away  from  sin. 
Away  with  the  thought  that  it  means  saved  into  the 
special  privilege  of  sinning.  Salvation  does  not  mean 
that  a  whiskey  bottle,  that  was  not  respectable  when 
a  man  was  outside  the  church,  becomes  so  when  he 
gets  inside. 

"  The  frauds  scattered  about  in  churches  here  and 
there  deceive  no  one.  If  they  happen  to  be  rich, 
their  money  may  keep  them  in  the  church,  but  your 


104  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

out-in-the-world-profess-nothing  man  laughs  them  and 
the  church  to  scorn.  Is  A  or  B  or  C  a  Christian  ? 
Go  ask  the  question  at  the  Greenton  Club,  if  you  wish 
to  know.  Its  members  can  tell  you.  Go  ask  the  club 
steward.  He  will  know. 

"An  honest,  out-and-out  wicked  man,  making  no 
profession,  will  never  hurt  religion.  Sometimes  some 
of  these  men  who  move  in  respectable  society  are 
asked  to  enter  the  church.  They  never  will.  It  is 
possible  to  respect  such  men.  Let  me  illustrate. 

"The  last  time  I  was  in  New  York,  I  called  on  a 
friend  of  mine,  a  business  man  who  is  '  in  Wall  street,' 
as  the  saying  goes.  I  asked  him  why  he  was  not  a 
Christian.  Said  he,  'For  two  reasons.  First,  there 
are  so  many  shams  in  this  whole  Christianity  business, 
that  I  will  not  have  anything  to  do  with  it.  Second, 
I  myself  cannot  be  a  Christian.  I  ought  to  be,  for  the 
sake  of  my  children.  I  do  want  to  be,  sometimes ; 
but  when  I  face  the  proposition  coldly,  I  back  down. 
I'm  in  Wall  street.  I  have  to  be.  I  gamble  in  futures 
all  the  while.  I  bought  a  million  in  "  Erie  "  last  week. 
All  the  money  I  had  in  the  world  was  thirty  thousand 
dollars.  I  sold  to-day  at  a  handsome  profit.  Now,  if 
I  were  to  become  a  Christian,  I  should  have  to  stop 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  And  I  cannot.' 

"  That  man  was  wrong :  dead  wrong.  But  he  was 
too  honest  to  become  a  sham  Christian,  as  some  before 
me  now  have  done.  Let  me  give  you  an  illustration 
of  a  different  sort. 

"  There  was  once  a  whiskey  distiller  in  central  New 
York.  He  was  growing  rich  from  his  business.  But 
he  came  under  powerful  conviction  of  sin.  He  had  the 
same  fight  that  the  broker  is  having.  It  was  '  Christ 
and  no  whiskey,'  or  '  Whiskey  and  no  Christ.'  Christ 


NO  BENEDICTION  SUNDAY  105 

won.  He  rolled  his  barrels  into  the  street,  knocked 
in  their  heads,  broke  down  his  still,  and  made  a  pro 
fession  of  religion.  He  did  more.  He  began  living 
that  religion  out  before  men,  so  that  everyone  could 
see  it,  and  that  was  worth  while.  Profession  meant 
something  to  that  old  whiskey  distiller.  But  there 
are  people  before  me  now  to  whom  it  means  nothing. 
Some  of  you  belong  to  this  church ;  some  of  you  be 
long  to  other  churches  in  this  city,  where  you  ought 
to  be  now,  instead  of  here  out  of  sheer  curiosity. 

"  The  night  is  long,  and  the  hours  are  dark.  I  am 
speaking  in  almost  broken-hearted  love.  Probably  I 
myself  am  in  fault  that  after  three  years  of  ministry 
here  the  dawn  has  not  yet  begun  to  break.  But  it 
shall  break  for  me,  God  willing — if  not  here,  then  else 
where.  Let  me  come  near  to  your  lives. 

"  What  made  you  join  the  church  ?  Did  you  want 
a  passport  to  respectability  ?  You  will  obtain  it,  if 
you  have  money  enough.  The  men  who  keep  their 
religion  in  their  pocketbooks  can  tell  you  how  much 
it  will  cost.  Did  you  want  entrance  to  the  best  so 
ciety  ?  Did  you  want  to  be  in  the  swim  ?  Did  you 
think  society  would  admit  you  to  its  inner  shrine  be 
cause  in  its  fashionable  presence  you  walked  down  the 
church  aisle  to  make  a  profession  of  your  faith  ?  " 

I  saw  Hobart,  whose  seat  was  conspicuous,  turn  very 
red  and  shake  his  head  as  if  in  anger.  It  was  some 
thing  to  have  assurance  that  one  shot  had  hit  the 
mark.  Hobart's  head-shake  did  not  stop  me.  I  went 
on : 

"  Profession  that  has  no  basis  is  a  lie — the  worst 
sort  of  lie,  for,  being  lived  daily,  it  can  never  be  put 
out  of  sight.  A  spoken  lie  may  be  forgotten  after  a 
while,  but  a  lived  one  keeps  right  on  acting  itself  out 


106  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

every  day.  A  generous-hearted  young  fellow  looks  at 
one  of  you  lie-livers,  and  says,  '  I  will  not  be  like  that ; 
I  will  have  none  of  that  nonsense  charged  up  against 
me.'  There's  a  man  in  this  town  who  talks  like  that. 
You  call  him  an  infidel.  He  is  not.  He  is  one  of 
God's  exemplars  of  pure  and  undefiled  religion.  You 
men  who  masquerade  as  Christians,  but  who  are  really 
hypocrites,  think  your  real  characters  are  not  known. 
But  you  are  not  partridges.  There  are  no  social 
thickets  into  which  you  can  run  for  cover.  The  un 
derbrush  of  the  social  world  was  long  since  cleared 
away.  Some  one  is  always  sure  to  see.  Some  one  has 
seen  you  and  has  talked  about  you,  for  the  church 
about  which  those  three  men  talked  in  New  Orleans, 
that  night  eight  months  ago,  was  this  very  church. 

"  And  now  this  sermon  and  this  service  are  ended. 
The  night  is  long  and  the  hours  are  dark.  Whether 
the  watchman  shall  ever  cry  '  The  morning  cometh,' 
God  knows.  It  rests  with  you.  I  cannot  ask  you  to 
join  in  a  closing  hymn.  You  would  not  mean  its 
words  if  you  sang  them.  I  cannot  say,  '  The  grace  of 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  and  the  fellowship  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  be  with  you  all.'  You  do  not  wish  for  any  fel 
lowship  of  that  Holy  Spirit.  There  is  no  use  in  ask 
ing  God's  blessing  upon  you  in  benediction.  He  will 
not  bless  you.  The  service  is  ended." 

I  left  the  pulpit,  stepped  into  the  little  room  behind 
it,  took  my  hat,  walked  back  into  the  church  and 
down  to  my  mother's  pew. 

"  Come,  mother ;  come,  Mr.  Henderson,"  I  said. 
"  We  will  go." 

The  stillness  of  that  congregation  was  like  that  of 
solitude.  We  three  walked  down  the  aisle.  Tim 
Wendell,  who  was  by  the  door,  slipped  out  and  waited 


NO  BENEDICTION  SUNDAY  107 

for  us  in  the  vestibule.  Not  another  person  in  the 
church  even  rose  from  his  seat.  As  we  passed  "Wen 
dell,  he  said,  "  God  bless  you,  my  boy  :  you'll  need  it ; 
you'll  need  it  badly." 

"  He  has,  Tim,"  I  answered,  "  He  has  already.  I 
have  had  my  Jabbok." 

No  one  of  us  spoke  a  word,  as  we  walked  the  short 
distance  to  the  house.  I  went  to  my  study  for  a  few 
moments,  as  was  my  custom.  I  should  have  been 
tremulous  and  fearful,  I  suppose ;  but  instead  there  was 
a  sense  of  great  spiritual  exaltation,  and  I  knew  the 
Angel  of  the  Covenant  had  been  at  my  right  hand. 

At  dinner  Henderson  was  the  first  speaker.  "  Ye 
didna  read  the  sermon,  the  day  I  doot." 

"  No,"  I  answered. 

"  No,  ye  didna  read,"  he  said  again.  "  An'  ye  didna 
run,  man,  ye  didna  run."  And  that  gave  my  mother 
her  voice.  She  could  not  trust  herself  before. 

"  My  boy,"  said  she,  "  how  did  you  dare  ?  You 
cannot  remain  here  as  pastor  any  longer  now. 
Your  people  will  not  bear  that.  You  will  have  to  go 
away,  and  you  will  have  to  go  alone.  I  am  too 
old  to  leave  the  old  home.  The  roots  of  my  life  have 
gone  down  too  deep." 

There  were  tears  in  her  voice,  though  her  self-con 
trol  was  steady.  Henderson  answered  for  me. 

"  Don't  trouble,  madam,"  he  said,  more  gently  than 
I  could  have  imagined  possible.  "  Yon  speech  will 
keep  him  here  for  fifty  years,  if  he  will  stay  so  long. 
But  he  willna  need  to  stay.  Pulpits  will  be  open  to 
him  everywhere."  Then,  with  a  sharp  glance  at  me, 
"  I  don't  agree  wi'  his  basal  principle,  ye  ken.  It  is 
works.  An'  that  isna  good  doctrine  ;  it  is  believin' 
that  counts.  But  in  spite  o'  that  error,  I  tell  ye, 


108  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

madam,  this  day  has  made  a  man  oot  o'  your  boy.  I 
told  him  the  morn,  at  breakfast,  ye  ken,  to  go  it  loose 
the  day,  and  he  did  wi'  a  vengeance." 

The  Greenton  Presbyterian  Church  was  composed 
very  largely  of  Heidelberg  Confession  Dutch.  They 
were  slow  and  stubborn  people.  What  they  had  been 
wont  to  have,  they  insisted  they  always  must  have. 
To  disperse  from  a  church  service  without  a  benedic 
tion  was  a  thing  unheard  of  and  impossible.  I  was 
not  astonished  at  what  happened. 

Dinner  was  nearly  finished,  when  the  door-bell 
rang.  The  spokesman  of  the  three  men  at  the  door 
explained  that  they  were  a  committee  from  the  con 
gregation. 

"  Pastor,"  he  said,  "the  people  say  they  never  went 
out  from  church  on  Sunday  without  a  benediction,  and 
they  cannot  go  now.  Not  a  soul  has  left.  Those  two 
strangers  are  in  your  pew  yet.  They  want  you  to 
come  over  and  dismiss  them." 

"  No,"  I  answered.  "  God  will  not  give  His  bene 
diction  to  people  who  honor  Him  with  their  lips,  but 
whose  heart  is  far  from  Him.  I  cannot  go  over." 

When,  about  an  hour  afterward,  another  committee 
came,  they  found  me  still  fixed  in  my  purpose.  Hav 
ing  begun  an  heroic  experiment,  I  was  intent  on  car 
rying  it  through  to  the  end. 

At  two  o'clock  another  committee  came.  "  Are  the 
people  still  there  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  pastor."  It  was  Elder  Harfis  who  led  this 
committee. 

"What  are  they  doing  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Discussing  the  sermon,  discussing  you ;  three  or 
four  have  prayed.  They  do  not  want  to  go  without  a 
benediction."  But  I  could  send  back  no  other  message. 


NO  BENEDICTION  SUNDAY  lot) 

At  three  another  committee  came,  and  at  four 
o'clock  another.  Henderson  heard  the  voices  and 
came  to  their  help. 

"  Ye'd  better  go,  lad,  I  doot,"  he  said. 

"  I  cannot,  Mr.  Henderson.  I  thought  you  were  a 
fisherman." 

"  So  I  am.     What's  that  got  to  do  wi'  it  ?  " 

"  I'm  a  fisher  of  men,  Mr.  Henderson.  I  made  my 
cast  this  morning.  It's  not  yet  time  for  the  landing- 
net." 

At  five  o'clock  another  committee  came.  Strange 
committee  it  was :  Joe  Smith,  Jimmie  MacNaughton, 
and  Elder  Harfis.  Joe  pleaded  for  the  people.  Then 
I  yielded. 

Present  again  with  the  congregation,  I  said : 

"  There  will  be  no  service  here  to-night.  I  want 
you  to  go  home  and  spend  this  night  in  prayer.  To 
morrow  morning  at  six  o'clock,  I  will  preach  in  this 
place.  Let  no  one  come  to  that  service,  save  those 
who  have  been  on  their  knees  before  God,  those  who 
are  penitent  and  ready  to  renounce  their  sins.  Now 
I  will  dismiss  you  with  a  benediction." 

But  the  words  of  that  benediction  I  had  never 
spoken  before,  nor  have  they  crossed  rny  lips  at  any 
time  since. 

"  And  now  may  the  convicting  and  converting 
power  of  Almighty  God  be  among  you  all,  to  harass 
and  disturb  until  you  repent  and  are  reconciled  to 
each  other  and  to  God  ;  and  for  this  end  may  His 
grace  be  with  you  all.  Amen." 

That  night  my  mother  and  I  sat  in  the  growing- 
darkness  of  the  long  June  twilight.  Henderson  had 
gone  out  with  the  stranger,  who  had  proved  to  be  his 
friend,  Major  George  Ardman,  of  New  York.  There 


110  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

in  the  darkness  we  sat  alone,  and  for  long  neither  of 
us  spoke. 

At  last  my  mother  said,  "  Come  over  here  close  to 
me,  my  boy." 

Of  course  I  obeyed. 

"  How  came  you  to  do  it  ?  "  she  said. 

Then  I  told  the  story  of  "  My  Jabbok."  And  as  I 
told  it,  I  did  what  I  had  so  often  done  in  the  child 
hood  years,  knelt  by  her  side,  and  the  tears  that 
could  no  longer  be  restrained  fell  unchecked.  Her 
hand  was  on  my  head.  Oh,  how  gently  it  rested 
there,  and  I  heard  the  voice  which  had  sung  lullaby 
in  the  bygone  years  saying  now  with  ineffable  sweet 
ness  the  great  words  which  have  comforted  so  many 
weary  hearts : 

"Lord,  Thou  hast  been  our  dwelling  place  in  all  gen 
erations  :  before  the  mountains  were  brought  forth, 
or  ever  Thou  hadst  formed  the  earth  and  the  world, 
even  from  everlasting  to  everlasting  Thou  art  God. 
.  .  .  Thou  hast  set  our  iniquities  before  Thee, 
our  secret  sins  in  the  light  of  Thy  countenance. 
.  .  .  Eeturn,  O  Lord,  how  long  ?  and  let  it  re 
pent  Thee  concerning  Thy  servants.  .  .  .  Bow 
down  Thine  ear,  O  Lord,  bow  down  Thine  ear  and 
hear  us,  for  our  trust  is  in  Thee." 

And  a  great  peace  filled  my  soul. 


HENDERSON  RETURNS  TO  HIS  OWN  COUNTRY 
BY   ANOTHER  WAY 

NO  one  who  was  present  at  that  early  meeting 
on  Monday  morning  will  ever  forget  it. 
My  guest  did  not  attend.  He  had  explained, 
the  night  before,  that  a  business  matter  would  occupy 
him.  That  struck  me  as  strange,  for  I  had  supposed 
that  his  only  possible  errand  in  Greenton  had  been 
search  for  sport.  He  had  surely  found  that.  But 
neither  his  presence  nor  absence  would  affect  condi 
tions  that  morning,  for  people's  thought  had  become 
occupied  suddenly  in  a  vastly  different  way.  That 
the  church  wrould  be  full  \vas  assured,  for  two  elements 
of  human  nature  were  in  operation :  the  one  was 
curiosity,  the  other  was  conviction. 

My  expectation  was  realized,  for  the  house  was  full 
to  the  doors.  Had  it  been  empty,  the  silence  could 
not  have  been  more  profound.  Joe  Smith,  and  Major 
Ardman,  and  Tim  Wendell,  all  sat  in  my  mother's 
pew.  Wasting  no  time  with  preliminaries,  not  even 
pausing  to  be  seated,  I  faced  the  congregation  and 
began  to  sing : 

"  There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood." 

The  effect  was  electric.  Before  the  first  verse  had 
been  sung,  men  and  women  were  sobbing  and  singing 
through  their  tears.  At  the  end  of  the  hymn,  I 
prayed.  As  the  prayer  ceased,  before  I  could  begin 

111 


112  THE  MAID  OF  HONOll 

to  speak,  Joe  Smith  led  off  with  the  same  great  hymn, 
and  once  more  the  congregation  sang  it  all  through. 
During  the  singing  of  the  last  verse,  Elder  Martin  rose 
and  made  his  way  toward  the  pulpit.  When  he  reached 
the  open  space,  he  looked  up  at  me  and  said,  "  Pastor, 
may  I  say  a  word  ?  " 

The  moment  was  intense.  Every  eye  was  on  the 
man,  every  ear  was  waiting  my  answer.  "  Yes, 
Elder  Martin,"  I  replied,  "  you  may  say  what  is  in 
your  heart." 

He  was  a  large  man,  with  a  fair  face,  and  his  hair 
was  streaked  with  gray.  He  had  been  an  elder  for 
more  than  twenty  years.  His  voice  was  very  low. 
"  I  am  a  sinner,"  he  began.  I  interrupted  him. 
"  Dear  elder,  we  are  all  sinners."  "  Oh,  no,  no,"  he 
broke  in,  "  I  am  the  sinner.  My  life  has  been  an  in 
sult  to  truth.  I  know  what  I  deserve  from  Almighty 
God.  I  have  cast  myself  on  His  mercy.  Now  I  cast 
myself  on  yours.  Forgive  me,  my  pastor ;  forgive  me, 
my  friends.  You  gave  me  office  and  I  took  it  at  your 
hands.  I  have  been  unworthy  ;  now  I  give  the  office 
back  to  you.  I  resign  my  eldership  here.  Please 
accept  it,  and  may  God  bless  you,  and  have  mercy 
upon  me."  Then  he  sat  down  upon  the  pulpit  stairs 
utterly  heart-broken. 

A  storm  of  emotion  then  would  have  wrecked  the 
whole  movement.  To  avert  it,  I  plunged  into  a  talk 
on  Tim  Wendell's  text,  "  And  to  keep  himself  un 
spotted  from  the  world."  It  was  entirely  unpremedi 
tated,  but  that  made  no  difference.  People  were 
there  to  listen.  For  a  half  hour  my  mouth  was  filled 
as  a  prophet's  might  have  been,  and  the  effect  of  the 
message  I  can  never  forget.  When  the  address  ceased 
there  was  absolute  silence.  Not  a  soul  stirred.  For 


HENDERSON  RETURNS  113 

a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  hush  of  God  was  upon  every 
heart.  Then  a  voice  began,  "  The  sacrifices  of  God 
are  a  broken  spirit ;  a  broken  and  a  contrite  heart, 
O  God,  Thou  wilt  not  despise." 

The  voice  was  that  of  a  woman.  To  tell  whence  it 
came  out  of  the  great  throng  was  impossible.  "  The 
sacrifices  of  God  are  a  broken  spirit,"  was  repeated 
by  another  voice,  and  then  by  others  together,  until 
finally  the  whole  company  as  one  person  sobbed  out, 
"  The  sacrifices  of  God  are  a  broken  spirit."  Then 
the  voice  of  Major  Ardman,  deep  and  strong,  took  up 
the  strain,  "  A  broken  and  a  contrite  heart,  O  God, 
Thou  wilt  not  despise,"  and  he  followed  that  with 
such  a  prayer  as  I  never  heard  before  nor  since. 

The  next  scenes  are  indescribable.  The  Holy  Ghost 
came  down  upon  us  all.  Greenton  had  never  known 
two  such  hours  in  her  history. 

Mr.  Henderson  had  asked  on  Sunday  night  if  he 
could  have  breakfast  at  seven  o'clock  on  Monday 
morning.  In  his  courtly  way,  he  apologized  for  the 
unconventional  request,  and  said,  "  I  hae  an  engage 
ment  at  eight  o'clock  wi'  '  The  Eggleston  Foundry 
and  Machine  Company '  people,  and  must  leave  Green- 
ton,  if  I  can,  by  twelve  o'clock,  to  reach  Camblet  in 
time  for  the  airly  afternoon  train  doon."  When  the 
meeting  was  over  at  half-past  eight,  I  asked  Major 
Ardman  home  to  a  cup  of  coffee  with  me,  but  he  said, 
"  I  must  hurry  to  see  the  Eggleston  people.  David  is 
there  now.  I  ought  to  have  been,  but  I  could  not 
deny  myself  the  experience  I  was  sure  awaited  me 
in  the  morning  meeting."  So  the  Major  went  to  find 
Henderson. 

At  my  own  breakfast  it  occurred  to  me  to  drive 


114  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

Henderson  and  the  Major  to  Salisbury  instead  of  see 
ing  them  go  off  alone  to  Camblet.  It  would  relieve 
the  tension  of  the  last  forty-eight  hours  and  rest  me. 
The  only  difficulty  would  be  to  get  my  men  before  it 
was  too  late  to  make  the  train  at  Salisbury.  But  for 
tune  favored  me.  About  five  minutes  past  ten  the 
two  men  came  together  to  the  parsonage.  I  made 
known  my  plan,  told  them  I  would  take  Joe  Smith 
along  for  company  home,  and  by  ten-thirty  we  were 
all  seated  in  a  good  surrey,  bowling  along  the  Green- 
ton  River  on  the  road  to  Salisbury. 

No  four  persons  ever  had  two  more  pleasant  hours. 
That  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  country  drives  im 
aginable.  The  scenery  is  varied,  and  for  eight  miles 
one  is  scarcely  out  of  sight  of  the  peerless  river.  It 
is  deep  and  still,  under  banks  shaded  by  forest  trees 
here ;  and  full  of  ripples  shining  and  flashing  in  the 
sunlight  there.  Here  wide  meadows  with  grazing 
cattle,  and  there  a  village  and  a  mill-wheel  tell  of  life 
asking  the  stream  for  help  in  the  struggle  for  daily 
bread.  "When  the  road  brought  us  first  in  sight  of 
the  river,  as  we  left  Greenton  behind,  Henderson, 
roused  into  animation,  broke  out  with  rapturous  ex 
pressions  of  delight. 

"Ton's  a  fine  stream  for  trout.  'Tis  a  pity  ye 
havena  a  fisherman  in  your  town.  Ye  say  the  man 
"Wendell's  your  best  fisherman,  an'  he  canna  fish.  He 
might,  if  he  stood  by  a  burn,  wi'  bait,  but  he  canna 
cast  a  fly.  An'  he  canna  sit  still  in  a  boat.  Did  ye 
ken  how  he  tipped  me  into  the  river  up  to  my  arms, 
juist  as  I  had  fastened  that  biggest  fish  ?  An'  I  had 
to  play  ma  trout  an'  back  across  that  stream  at  the 
same  time.  I  almost  lost  him.  No  one  but  a  fisher 
man  could  have  saved  him.  I  tell  ye,  I'm  the  great 


HENDERSON  RETURNS  115 

fisherman !  An',  man,"  he  finished  earnestly,  "  I'd 
have  ye  to  know  that  river's  no  a  hot-air  furnace." 

There  was  a  great  laugh  over  that  speech,  with  its 
innocent  bluster.  When  we  were  still,  I  said : 

"  Mr.  Henderson,  the  water  of  the  river  is  very  wet, 
but  you  were  dry  enough  when  you  came  to  supper." 

"  Do  I  luik  like  a  man  that  would  come  to  supper 
to  a  table  graced  by  sic  a  lady  as  your  mither,  wearin' 
clothes  soakin'  wet  an'  in  which  I  had  fished  a'  day  ?  " 

"No,  you  don't.  But  why  didn't  you  tell  us  at 
supper  ?  " 

"Man,  do  ye  ask?  "Who  could  hae  towd  ye  any- 
thin'  at  supper  that  nicht  ?  Your  face  was  as  long  as 
a  horse's  jowl,  an'  yer  mouth  shut  as  tight  as  the  lips 
o'  the  Sphinx.  Ye  wadna  talk  an'  ye  wadna  listen, 
an'  I  was  talkin'  fine." 

"  That's  so,  Mr.  Henderson.  I  was  preoccupied.  I 
had  been  through  an  unsatisfactory  day.  But  noth 
ing  engrosses  me  now.  There's  not  a  single  carking 
care  along,  and  I'll  listen — yes,  I  will.  Come,  now, 
what  happened  to  you  and  Tim  ?  " 

"  Ye  better  ask  what  didna  happen,  I  doot." 

"Oh,  I  know  what  did  not  happen.  You  did  not 
fail  as  a  fisherman.  I  saw  them, — those  five  fish.  They 
were  fine." 

Just  then  we  came  in  sight  of  the  scene  of  the  mis 
hap,  and  Henderson  in  real  glee  shouted,  "There, 
that's  it.  Yon's  the  place  where  I  hooked  the  big 
one,  and  juist  down  there's  where  I  backed  ashore, 
an'  yon's  the  little  tavern."  And  then  going  on  from 
that  point  he  told  in  his  absurd,  but  always  interest 
ing  way,  the  whole  story. 

While  Henderson  talked  my  own  memory  was  busy 
with  Joe  Smith.  The  coincidence  of  the  two  men 


116  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

meeting  in  my  church,  and  being  together  in  their 
present  very  familiar  relation,  and  with  me,  impressed 
me  forcibly.  As  Henderson  talked  I  thought  of  Joe. 

His  actions  in  these  two  days  had  shown  in  him  a 
different  mood  from  any  ever  seen  in  him  at  college. 
As  he  had  told  Henderson,  he  had  been  a  member  of 
my  class,  but  as  he  left  at  the  end  of  Freshman  year, 
our  acquaintance  was  not  very  intimate.  We  were 
members  of  the  same  Fraternity,  but  were  not  very 
close  friends. 

Although  Joe  was  smart,  he  was  not  a  good  student. 
His  standing  in  the  class  was  low.  Utterly  unsophisti 
cated,  in  my  Freshman  days,  and  withal  of  a  highly 
impressionable  temperament,  Joe  shocked  me  beyond 
expression.  In  manner  he  was  uncouth ;  in  dress, 
slovenly  ;  in  thought,  coarse  ;  in  speech,  at  times,  very 
profane.  He  knew  more  ways  of  doing  nothing,  and 
doing  it  well,  than  any  other  man  in  college.  As  the 
boys  said,  he  always  "  got  there,"  but  where,  it  would 
have  troubled  anyone  to  tell.  When  he  did  arrive, 
there  was  never  much  evidence  that  he  had  brought 
anything  with  him,  or  done  anything  on  the  way. 
Although  generally  regarded  as  one  of  the  brightest 
men  in  the  class,  there  yet  was  never  an  occasion  on 
which  he  shone.  He  was  also  widely  known  as  the 
laziest  man  there  had  been  in  the  college  for  a  genera 
tion.  The  college  wag  was  wont  to  say : 

"  When  Joe  Smith  begins  to  declaim,  in  chapel  at 
rhetorical,  all  hands  can  go  to  sleep — he'll  never  stop ; 
he's  too  lazy." 

He  might  have  led  his  class  in  scholarship.  He  was 
too  lazy.  He  might  have  been  the  best  debater.  He 
was  too  lazy.  He  might  have  been  the  best  all-round 
athlete,  but  he  scorned  the  diamond  and  the  gridiron 


HENDERSON  RETURNS  117 

alike.  He  \vas  too  lazy.  He  kne\v  it.  He  \vas  ac 
customed  to  boast  of  it,  as  his  chief  and  only  distin 
guishing  characteristic.  He  would  say  : 

"  After  you  fellows  are  all  forgotten,  I'll  be  remem 
bered  as  the  laziest  man  in  the  college  for  a  century." 

Such  had  been  the  Joe  Smith  of  college  days.  Now, 
after  eight  years,  he  had  come  back  into  touch  with 
my  life.  Lately,  as  he  had  come  to  town  from  time  to 
time,  it  was  evident  that  some  sort  of  influence  was 
bringing  him  and  me  into  a  mutually  closer  relation, 
and  the  feeling  grew  that  in  some  way  we  should 
greatly  affect  each  other.  On  this  morning's  drive  to 
Salisbury,  as  he  sat  beside  me,  this  feeling  kept  forcing 
itself  against  my  consciousness  like  a  throb  of  pain. 

Mile  after  mile  along  the  stream  we  drove,  now 
close  to  its  banks,  and  now  back  on  the  hills.  From 
the  summit  my  guests  had  their  first  glimpse  of  the 
great  Green  Mountains.  Rupert  Mountain,  clothed  in 
its  garb  of  enchantment,  that  translucent  azure  which 
is  New  England's  glory,  stood  straight  before  us. 
Mount  Anthony  loomed  grandly  up  toward  the  south, 
as  in  the  days  a  hundred  years  before,  when  Ann  Har 
ris  and  her  associates  prayed  all  day  in  the  forest  at 
its  foot,  that  success  might  crown  the  efforts  of  their 
fathers,  sons,  husbands,  and  brothers  out  on  Benning- 
ton  battle-field. 

Henderson  talked  incessantly.  The  motion  and  the 
pure  air  were  elixir  to  him.  He  asked  keen  and  curious 
questions  about  the  historic  spots  we  passed.  I  was 
right  glad,  for  the  brisk  conversation  kept  yesterday 
entirely  out  of  my  mind.  Nearer  and  ever  nearer 
came  the  mountains.  The  day  was  superb.  The 
white  ships  of  the  sky,  with  silvery  sails  glistening, 
laden  with  freight  of  moisture,  cast  shadows  on  the 


118  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

mountainsides,  and,  floating  over,  gave  ever  new  and 
wonderful  tints  to  the  whole  landscape.  Joe  Smith 
would  never  have  been  chosen  as  judge  of  paintings 
for  an  art-gallery  exhibit,  but  the  God  of  his  being 
had  breathed  into  him  a  soul  that  loved  the  beautiful 
in  nature.  Frequently  he  interrupted  Henderson's 
flow  of  talk  with  expressions  of  delight  as  rapturous 
as  those  of  a  child.  It  was  no  wonder.  A  holiday 
drive  was,  to  this  man  of  laborious  life,  a  thing  un 
usual  ;  and  this  drive  was  itself  unequaled. 

The  road  left  the  river  at  last  and  turned  across  the 
plain  into  which  the  foothills  of  the  mountains  spread. 
Henderson's  exuberance  was  past.  Joe  relapsed  into 
silence.  The  Major  took  up  the  conversation : 

"  How  long  have  you  been  pastor  in  Greenton  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  About  three  years." 

"  Have  you  ever  thought  a  time  might  come  when 
a  change  of  pastorate  would  be  desirable  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Every  young  minister  must  think  of  that : 
his  limitations  in  a  first  pastorate  are  so  great,  his  real 
accomplishments  so  few,  and  his  mistakes  so  many." 

"  If  a  good  opportunity  should  offer  for  a  change, 
would  it  be  attractive  ?  " 

"JSTot  now.  There  is  a  work  to  do  in  Greenton 
which  must  be  done,  and  which  God  has  surely  laid 
on  me.  Until  it  is  done,  no  proposition  to  change 
would  interest  me  in  the  least." 

"  What's  that  ?  Ye  wadna  go,  an  ye  had  a  guid 
opportunity  ?  "  It  was  Henderson's  voice. 

"  No,  I  would  not." 

"  An'  why  no  ?  " 

"  There  is  work  to  be  done  which  God  has  laid  on 
me,  and  which  began  yesterday  morning." 


HENDERSON  RETURNS  119 

"  An'  was  runnin'  awa'  from  the  church  beginnin' 
the  work  o'  God  ?  " 

"  Yes.     He  told  me  to  go." 

"  He  towd  ye  to  go,  man  ?  An'  leave  the  people 
undismissed  an'  unblest,  an'  ye  sittin'  quiet  in  yer 
hoose  ?  " 

"  Yes.     He  told  me  to  go." 

"  Man,  are  yer  wits  wanderin'  ?  Ye  played  wi' 
Providence  yesterday.  He'll  no  abide  ye." 

"  I  think  you  are  wrong,  David."  The  Major  was 
speaking.  "  Had  you  been  at  the  early  meeting  to-day 
you  would  not  speak  as  you  do." 

"  Oh,  aye.  I  mind  ye  said  the  preacher  preached 
graun'  the  morn.  But  the  people  will  forget  it  a'  be 
fore  the  Sabbath.  Ye'll  have  to  go,  lad.  If  Geordie 
Ardman  has  a  church  to  offer  ye,  he'd  better  do  it, 
for  ye'll  need  it  ere  six  months  go,  I  doot." 

"  No,  he  won't,"  said  Joe.  "  I've  heard  the  town 
talk  this  morning.  He'll  never  leave  here  because 
folks  want  him  to  go." 

"  But  didna  I  hear  Mr.  Hobart  tellin'  Bob,  when  I 
was  askin'  for  a  team  and  driver  to  Camblet,  that  he'd 
drive  the  preacher  out  o'  town  before  the  snow  flies  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Hobart  be "  but  Joe  stopped  short.  I 

knew  he  meant  to  swear,  and  wondered  why  he  did 
not. 

"I'm  glad  to  see,  Mr.  Smith,  that  ye  respect  the 
preacher  if  ye  dinna  fear  God,"  said  Henderson. 

"  See  here,"  said  Joe.  "  Hobart  can't  drive  one  of 
the  preacher's  old  shoes  out  of  Greenton.  He'll  stay 
right  here,  and  you'll  hear  great  news  from  Greenton 
yet." 

Just  then  the  whistle  of  the  down  train  blew  at  a 
station  three  or  four  miles  from  Salisbury.  But  we 


120  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

were  almost  at  the  end  of  the  drive.  Henderson  was 
sitting  just  behind  me.  He  laid  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder. 

"  Hear  me,  man,"  he  said.  "  I  towd  yer  mither  yes 
terday  ye  had  done  a  graun'  thing.  I  leed  to  her  juist 
a  bit.  It  was  necessar'  to  keep  her  in  heart,  dear  lady. 
But  I  fear  ye  made  a  mess  o'  it.  Ye  won't  hear  the 
last  o'  it.  It's  no  because  ye  were  wrang,  but  it's  be 
cause  it  was  an  innovation.  Presbyterians  don't  like 
innovations.  But  when  yer  trouble  comes,  lad,  juist 
let  David  Henderson  know.  He'll  no  see  ye  suffer  for 
tellin'  the  truth." 

That  was  like  Henderson;  and  Major  Ardman 
added,  "  And  if  you  think  ere  long  you  would  be  in 
terested  in  a  proposition  for  a  change,  don't  fail  to  let 
me  know."  With  that  they  both  stepped  out  on  the 
platform  of  the  station.  Just  as  the  train  moved  off 
Henderson  called  from,  the  rear  platform,  "An'  I'll 
never  fish  in  the  same  boat  with  that  infidel  again. 
Man,  it's  dangerous." 

And  I  knew  both  propositions  were  true,  for  Wen 
dell  would  never  trust  himself  again  in  a  boat  with 
the  Scotchman,  expert  with  a  rod  though  he  was. 


XI 

JOE  SURPRISES  ME 

AS  we  drove  down  the  main  street  of  Salisbury 
homeward  bound,  Joe  said,  "  I  can  make  one 
of  'em  out,  but  I  can't  the  other.  That  man 
Ardman  is  easy.  He's  big  and  burly.  But  did  you 
ever  hear  such  a  prayer  ?  " 

"  I  agree  with  you,  Joe.  You  haven't  said  all  you 
began  to  say,  but  I  agree.  And  yet,  old  man,  I  be 
lieve  Henderson  is  the  better  man,  because  he  is  the 
stronger  character." 

"  Why  didn't  he  come  to  meeting  this  morning, 
then  ?  I  tell  you  he's  one  of  those  sham  elders.  He 
talks  a  lot,  but  when  it  comes  down  to  business,  he'll 
do  you  every  time,  or  I'm  mistaken." 

"  No,  Joe.  You're  wrong.  I  agree  with  you,  and 
I  don't,  both.  I  can't  make  Henderson  out  yet.  But 
that's  the  Scotch  of  it.  He  pretended  that  he  came 
to  Greenton  to  fish,  but  he  didn't.  He  and  Ardman 
met  here  by  appointment,  I  think.  Henderson  was 
over  at  the  Eggleston  Foundry  early.  Ardman  joined 
him  there.  It  has  been  said  for  some  time  in  town 
that  the  firm  was  shaky.  Henderson  told  me,  last 
night,  what  he  must  do  this  morning." 

"  All  right.  But  if  you  ever  see  more  of  him,  watch 
out.  That's  all  I've  got  to  say."  Then  Joe  stopped 
talking.  For  three  miles  he  did  not  speak  a  word.  I 
tried  him  on  many  lines,  and  finally  gave  it  up.  There 
was  a  dense  grove  of  white  pines  about  a  mile  from 

121 


122  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

the  point  where  the  road  comes  back  to  the  Greenton 
River.  The  trees  stand  very  close  together,  and 
almost  no  light  streams  through.  As  we  drove  along 
past,  Joe  said  suddenly,  "  Tie  the  horses,  old  friend. 
Let's  go  in  here.  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  Can't  you  talk  while  I  drive  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can't.  I  don't  want  to  see  a  sight  but  your 
face  and  those  trees.  No  one  can  see  us  in  there  but 
God,  and  He's  all  I  want  to  have  see  us." 

The  request  was  strange,  but  I  humored  him,  and 
we  went  into  the  grove.  Taking  a  seat  at  the  foot  of 
a  pine,  I  waited  for  Joe.  He  remained  standing, 
looking  intently  at  me.  All  at  once  he  said  : 

"  Dominie,  get  on  your  knees,  facing  that  tree." 

"  What's  this,  Joe  ?  "  I  said.     "  Are  you  crazy  ?  " 

"  Do  it,  I  tell  you,"  he  said.  I  obeyed  him,  wonder 
ing  what  whim  held  him.  "  Sure  as  fate,"  he  said, 
"  that  was  you.  That  was  just  the  way  you  looked 
last  Saturday  night  under  the  elm  on  the  Common." 

"  Did  you  see  me  out  there  ?  "Was  that  you  coming 
when  I  ran  into  the  house  ?  I  thought  the  figure  was 
a  brain  spectre.  That  is  why  I  ran." 

"  "Well,  it  was  I  all  right,"  he  said.  "  I  had  been  on 
a  little  tear  for  two  days,  and  I  drank  too  much  that 
night  after  getting  in  from  the  road.  I  was  half 
drunk.  I  couldn't  sleep.  Every  time  I  dozed  I  would 
wake  dreaming  of  my  old  mother.  I  went  out  to  walk 
it  off.  "When  I  saw  you  under  the  tree,  and  you 
jumped  and  ran,  I  thought  it  was  more  of  the  jag. 
But  it  wasn't :  it  was  you.',' 

"  Yes,  Joe,  it  was  I." 

"  What  were  you  doing  out  there  ?  Do  you  do  that 
often  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  said.     And  I  told  him  the  story. 


JOE  SURPRISES  ME  123 

He  seemed  profoundly  moved.  When  the  narration 
was  finished,  he  said,  "  Dominie,  will  you  pray  right 
under  this  pine  for  me  ?  I'll  watch  the  horses."  So 
there  in  the  grove  I  carried  that  poor  soul's  case  to 
God. 

"When  the  prayer  ended,  he  said,  "  Say,  Dominie,  I 
think  the  Church  is  the  worst  old  humbug  this  side 
of  Erebus.  Half  its  members  are  shams.  I'm  afraid 
that  Henderson  is,  though  I  don't  know.  But  I'll  tell 
you  what  I'm  going  to  do."  I  had  never  seen  him  so 
earnest.  "  I'm  going  to  join  your  church  before  I 
leave  this  town.  I  have  given  my  heart  to  Christ,  and 
He's  no  humbug.  So  into  His  Church  I  go,  if  it  will 
have  me." 

Our  unwillingness  to  believe  in  the  sincerity  of  others 
in  the  matter  of  initiative  religious  experience  is  very 
strange.  After  what  had  just  happened,  and  with  the 
memory  of  Joe's  singing  that  morning  still  fresh,  I 
should  have  given  a  hearty  "  God  bless  you,  dear  old 
Joe."  Instead  I  did  not  answer  at  all.  Then  he 
spoke  suddenly  : 

"  You  don't  take  any  stock  in  that,  do  }'ou,  parson  ? 
Known  me  too  long,  haven't  you  ?  Know  how  I  used 
to  swear,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  Joe,"  I  answered,  with  some  hesitation. 
"  I  take  stock  in  it  all  right.  You  did  swear  hard,  I 
remember  ;  but  I  take  — 

"  No,  you  don't,"  he  interrupted.  "  You  don't  stand 
for  me  at  all.  You  don't  believe  in  me  a  little.  But 
I'm  honest.  Man  alive,  can't  you  see  I'm  in  dead 
earnest  ?  I'm  going  to  be  a  Christian,  if  there  isn't 
another  but  you  and  Tim  Wendell  on  earth." 

"  But  Tim  Wendell  is  not  a  Christian,"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  don't,  Dominie,  don't,"  he  rejoined.     "  That 


124  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

sounds  too  like  your  Greenton  hypocrites.  He  is  a 
Christian.  So  are  you.  So  am  I  going  to  be — an  all- 
over-er,  too.  I'm  going  to  be  an  out-and-out-er,  and 
an  in-and-in-er,  and  a  through-and-through-er.  I  mean 
to  work  this  clear  to  the  limit." 

What  kind  of  stupid  reaction  had  me  in  control, 
I  cannot  imagine.  My  answer  was  inadequate  to  a 
degree. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "I  hope  this  is  all  true.  But,  Joe, 
isn't  it  rather  sudden  ?  When  did  you  have  a  change 
of  heart  ?  " 

That  speech  was  unpardonable.  But  his  reply, 
quick  and  sincere,  began  to  waken  me. 

"  There,"  he  said,  and  there  was  a  hurt  note  in  his 
voice;  "  I  told  you  that  you  didn't  belie  vein  me.  But 
you  may.  Sudden  ?  Well,  I  should  say  so.  Why, 
I've  been  shaken  up  like  Saul  at  Damascus.  And 
when  he  called  out,  *  Lord,  I  want  to  go  to  work  for 
you;  give  me  a  job,'  did  the  Lord  say  to  him,  'Saul, 
isn't  this  rather  sudden  ?  '  As  for  a  change  of  heart," 
he  finished,  "  I  don't  know  when  I  had  it.  I  expect 
I've  been  changing  slowly  for  three  years." 

"  Three  years  ?  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Why,  that  is  just 
the  time  I  have  been  pastor  in  Greenton." 

"  Yes.  That's  just  it,"  he  returned.  "  First  trip  I 
made  here  after  you  were  settled,  I  met  you  on  the 
street.  Remember  ?  I  started  going  to  church  right 
then.  You  see,  I  knew  you  in  college  for  a  straight-er. 
You  were  a  little  pitiful  green  chap  when  3Tou  came, 
but  the  fraternity  boys  thought  they  saw  good  points 
about  you  and  took  you  in.  Well,  they  found  out 
that  you  had  more  points  than  they  reckoned  on.  Re 
member  the  night  they  tried  to  make  you  drink  in  the 
lodge  room,  and  you  said  you'd  promised  your  mother 


JOE  SURPRISES  ME  125 

not  to  drink,  and  you'd  keep  that  promise  or  die  ?  I 
said  to  myself  then,  '  Joe,  that  chap's  green,  but  he's 
clear  grit.'  So,  when  I  found  you  pastor  here,  I  said, 
'I'm  going  to  hear  the  preacher  that  had  the  sand  to 
stand  against  a  whole  lodge  full,  just  because  he'd 
promised  his  mother  he  wouldn't  drink.'  I'll  tell  you 
true,  you  couldn't  preach  much,  but  you  were  dead- 
open-and-shut  honest  and  earnest.  Then  I  got  ac 
quainted  with  Tim  "Wendell,  and  he  and  I  talked  you 
over.  I  began  to  believe  there  was  something  in 
Christianity.  So  the  years  have  gone  by.  I  saw  old 
Henderson  down  in  New  Orleans.  Sometimes  I  think 
he's  a  Christian,  other  times  I  think  he's  not."  It 
seemed  that  others,  then,  were  puzzled  over  him  even 
as  I  was. 

"Then,"  he  went  on,  "you  kicked  up  that  rumpus 
in  church  yesterday,  and  all  at  once  this  morning  I 
cried  out,  '  Here  I  am,  Lord  :  rough  Joe  Smith  ;  if  you 
can  use  me,  rough  as  I  am,  use  me.  If  you  must 
smooth  me  down,  smooth  me.'  Now,  parson,  I  meant 
that.  I'm  in  this  business  to  be  used.  But  when  it 
all  happened,  I  don't  know.  It's  been  happening  ever 
since  I  knew  you." 

That  amazing  speech  was  a  soul-awakener.  I  turned 
to  Joe,  threw  my  arms  around  him,  drew  him  to  me, 
and  made  with  him,  in  spiritual  silence,  a  covenant 
which  this  world  will  never  see  broken.  This  man 
was  the  first  person  to  tell  me  that  my  life  and  char 
acter  had  been  a  lamp  to  guide  his  feet  on  the  way  to 
God.  I  could  not  speak  for  a  little. 

"  Joe,"  I  said  huskily,  "  I  do  believe  in  you.  I'll 
own  to  you,  I  didn't  at  first,  but  I  do  now.  My  ques 
tion  was  wicked.  When  you  became  a  Christian,  sud 
denly  or  unsuddenly,  makes  no  difference — you  are 


126  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

one.  You  shall  join  Greenton  Church  as  soon  as  you 
like." 

"  Good  !  "  came  the  dear  fellow's  answer.  "  That 
suits  me.  I  won't  be  with  the  church  often — can't, 
you  know.  But  when  I  am,  folks  in  Greenton  will 
know  it." 

We  went  back  to  the  carriage.  A  silence  fell  be 
tween  us  as  we  drove  homeward,  but  it  was  the 
silence  of  communing  souls  at  peace  with  God. 

We  passed  my  home  just  at  supper-time.  I  asked 
Joe  to  stop  for  tea  with  us,  but  he  declined. 

"  No,"  he  said ;  "  I've  been  gone  nearly  all  day,  and 
must  do  a  little  business  yet."  So  I  left  him  at  Bob's 
tavern. 

When  I  told  my  mother  the  story  of  the  drive  and 
of  Henderson's  parting  words  of  discouragement  anent 
the  Sunday's  work,  she  answered  very  gently  : 

"Never  mind,  dear  boy.  Whatever  happens  will 
be  right.  God  has  been  with  you  these  last  two  days, 
and  nothing  can  go  wrong  with  the  man  with  whom 
God  abides." 

"  Has  anything  happened  to-day,  mother  ?  "  I  asked. 
I  was  very  fearful  there  might  have  been  some  reac 
tion  since  the  morning. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  Elder  Harfis  called  twice 
to  see  you,  and,  when  he  came  the  second  time,  seemed 
much  disappointed  that  you  had  not  returned." 

"  Did  he  tell  his  business  ?  "  I  asked  anxiously.  I 
distrusted  Elder  Harfis. 

"Not  one  syllable,  but  I  think  it  was  something 
about  the  church  and  yesterday." 

That  was  not  reassuring,  and  ordinarily  the  thought 
that  at  once  took  form  in  my  mind  would  have  made 
me  uneasy.  That  the  elder  had  come  to  tell  me  that  my 


JOE  SURPRISES  ME  127 

services  were  no  longer  required  at  the  Presbyterian, 
church  seemed  probable.  But  in  a  soul  so  spiritually 
elated  as  mine  over  Joe's  conversion,  there  was  no 
room  for  worry  as  to  what  the  elder  might  or  might 
not  say  when  we  should  meet. 

The  evening  was  warm.  As  we  sat  upon  our  porch, 
the  view  of  the  western  hills  at  whose  bases  the  Hud 
son  River  flows  was  transcendently  beautiful.  I  was 
repeating  some  lines  of  Holland's  that  I  loved,  when 
suddenly  the  church  bell  began  to  ring.  I  started  as 
if  from  a  dream.  "  What's  that  for  ?  "  I  cried.  But 
my  mother  could  not  answer  me. 

Going  over  to  the  church  at  once,  I  found  it  fast 
filling  with  people. 

"  What's  all  this  ?  "  I  asked  the  sexton. 

"Oh,"  drawled  the  old  man,  "Elder  Harfis  an'  Mr. 
Smith  is  goin'  tohev  a  meetin',  but  Idon't  know  what  fer. 
Ther'  was  handbills  all  over  taown  this  afternoon." 

Elder  Harfis  met  me  as  I  entered  the  vestibule.  He 
gave  me  no  opportunity  to  speak. 

"  I  tried  to  see  you  twice  to-day,"  he  explained, 
"  but  you  had  gone  out  of  town.  Had  I  found  you, 
we  would  have  had  a  talk  about  this  meeting,  but 
now  it's  too  late.  Joe  Smith  and  I  arranged  it.  He 
said  he  wanted  to  join  this  church  and  must  tell  the 
people  why.  I  promised  to  see  you  about  it,  but 
when  he  went  to  Salisbury  with  }^ou,  I  supposed  he'd 
tell  you.  Then  I  didn't  see  him  till  half  an  hour  ago, 
and  he  said  he  hadn't  told  you,  but  it  was  all  the 
better,  for  the  meeting  was  going  to  be  ours,  and  we 
wouldn't  let  you  have  anything  to  do  with  it.  So, 
you  see,  preacher,"  he  ended  with  a  smile,  "  you  can't 
go  into  the  pulpit  to-night.  You  sit  anywhere.  We'll 
take  care  of  the  meeting." 


128  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

Have  you  ever  seen  a  cloud  full  to  bursting  with 
rain  and  just  about  to  break  in  downpour?  Such 
was  that  meeting.  The  elder  read  the  Fifty-first 
Psalm.  Then  Joe  Smith  prayed.  Never  was  such  a 
prayer  as  his  heard  in  Green  ton  Church  before. 

"God,  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  praying. 
I  don't  know  how  to  do  it.  I  have  used  your 
name  thousands  of  times,  but  I  was  swearing, 
and  not  praying.  Now  I'm  going  to  change 
off.  I've  got  to  speak  to  this  crowd  to-night. 
I've  got  to  tell  them  the  truth.  They've 
been  a  lot  of  humbugs  and  hypocrites  and 
do-nothings,  but  they  have  had  a  jolt  and  are 
looking  around  to  see  what's  the  matter.  I 
want  help  to  tell  them  the  truth,  the  whole 
truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  as  Justice 
Wendell  says.  I  want  you  to  take  care  of 
this  meeting,  and  keep  me  from  being  a  fool. 
That  is  all  I  have  to  say  now.  Amen." 

Elder  Harfis  gave  out  the  hymn,  "  There  is  a  foun 
tain  filled  with  blood."  Joe  did  not  wait  for  the 
organ.  He  began  to  sing  with  an  earnestness  that 
was  not  to  be  mistaken.  At  the  close  of  the  hymn, 
he  spoke. 

"I'm  no  preacher,"  were  his  first  words,  "so  I'll 
take  no  text.  But  I  know  a  few  words  of  the  Eng 
lish  language,  and  Fm  going  to  use  them  the  best  I 
know  how.  I  never  had  any  use  for  the  Church  until  I 
began  to  hear  the  Dominie  down  there  preach  in  this 
town.  That  was  three  years  ago.  I  suppose  I've 
heard  seven  or  eight  sermons  a  year.  I've  told  the 
preacher  I  didn't  call  them  very  good  sermons;  but 
what  of  that  ?  He's  all  right,  sermons  or  no  sermons, 
and  he  proves  Christianity  every  day  by  his  life. 


JOE  SURPRISES  ME  129 

"  Yesterday  morning,  he  preached.  Yes,  he  did. 
He  larruped  you  old  hypocrites  well.  He  gave  it  to 
you  again  this  morning  in  good  shape,  too,  and  I  don't 
leave  myself  out  either.  I  got  my  dose,  and  I  deserved 
it.  I  haven't  had  much  use  for  the  Church  as  I  have 
known  it,  but  I'm  going  to  join  this  one.  The  Church, 
as  I  see  it,  is  a  sham  and  a  humbug.  Your  church  has 
been  a  humbug,  and  you  know  it.  I've  been  spending 
Sunday  four  times  a  year,  for  eight  years,  in  this 
town,  and  not  a  man  in  all  Greenton  ever  asked  me 
into  a  church,  or  ever  spoke  one  word  to  me  about 
my  soul,  or  over  tried  to  do  me  any  good.  Some  of 
you  men  have  taken  me  into  Bob's  tavern  to  drink, 
thinking  if  you  could  get  me  mellow  you  could  make 
a  better  bargain.  You've  tried  to  do  me  all  right,  but 
you  never  once  tried  to  do  me  good.  That's  the 
sort  of  Christians  some  of  you  have  been.  I  don't 
wonder  your  faces  turn  red.  Oh,  don't  look  at  your 
neighbor,  to  see  if  his  face  is  red.  You're  the  man 
I  mean:  and  you,  and  you,  and  you."  Joe's  earnest 
ness  was  good  to  see. 

"  Now,"  he  continued,  "  this  church  is  going  to  be  a 
better  church.  Your  pastor  got  loose  yesterday.  He 
let  the  books  and  the  schools  go,  and  he  sawed  wood. 
Whenever  God  sees  a  preacher  sawing  wood,  He 
comes  right  down.  He  even  stands  by  with  a  file  to 
keep  the  preacher's  saw  sharp.  My  friend  there  has 
had  two  bouts  at  his  wood-pile,  one  yesterday  and  one 
this  morning  ;  and  his  saw  isn't  dull  yet.  I  heard 
that  trout-fisher,  Henderson,  tell  him  to-day  that  he'd 
made  a  mess  of  it,  and  that  you  would  drive  him  out 
of  this  church.  Don't  you  do  it.  You  can't  afford 
that.  He's  just  waked  up,  and  he'll  keep  you  waked 
up  too.  And  if  he  don't,  I  will,  for  I'm  going  to  join 


130  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

this  church,  and  I  shall  be  back  here  just  as  often  as  I 
can,  and  whenever  I  come  back  I'm  going  to  speak  in 
meeting. 

"  I'm  a  Christian  all  right."  This  was  in  answer  to 
the  blank  astonishment  on  many  of  the  faces  before 
him.  "I'm  a  Saul-of-Tarsus  Christian.  God  shook 
me  up  yesterday.  Greenton  is  my  Damascus.  The 
Dominie  there  told  me  my  conversion  was  sudden. 
Well,  what  of  it?  Is  there  any  law  that  says  God 
can't  do  a  thing  in  a  hurry,  if  He  wants  to  ?  Is  a 
Christian  that  gives  in  to  Jesus  Christ  suddenly,  any 
poorer  Christian  than  your  mud-turtle,  snail-crawler 
convert  ?  No,  he  isn't ;  not  one  bit  poorer.  When 
Saul  of  Tarsus  heard  the  voice  say,  '  Quit  your  kick 
ing,  Saul,'  he  quit  and  went  to  preaching  right 
straight.  That's  me.  I  heard  the  voice  of  God  yes 
terday.  It  said,  'Joe  Smith,  you've  been  knocking 
round,  swearing,  drinking,  cussing  Christians,  for  a 
good  while ;  now  stop — go  to  preaching.'  So  here  I 
am.  I  don't  know  any  Hebrew.  I  forgot  my  Greek 
before  I  ever  learned  it,  and  never  since  have  remem 
bered  what  I  never  knew.  But  that  don't  count. 

"  Christianity  is  real.  Christ  is  real,  for  I  saw  Him 
yesterday.  Your  preacher  is  real.  Tim  Wendell  is 
real.  You  don't  believe  it,  but  he  is.  He  can  give 
you  pointers  about  being  Christians.  You  can't  cover 
up  a  real  thing.  Some  one  always  finds  it.  I'm  go 
ing  to  be  real,  and  some  one  will  find  me  so.  I'm  in 
this  to  stay.  I'm  going  to  wake  you  sleepy  souls  up. 
I'm  going  to  tell  the  truth  to  you  who  have  been 
shams  and  hypocrites  so  long. 

"Now,  I  have  just  about  finished.  But  I  want  the 
meetings  Elder  Harfis  and  I  have  begun  to  go  right 
on.  This  town  needs  a  revival.  You  haven't  had 


JOE  SURPRISES  ME  131 

one  for  many  years.  The  churches  are  all  alike  here. 
They're  worse  than  a  cold-storage  plant.  The  parson 
set  this  church  afire  yesterday,  now  you  set  the  rest 
of  the  churches  afire. 

"  I'm  going  to  be  here  just  one  more  day,  then  I've 
got  to  go  off  on  the  road.  I'm  going  to  sell  goods 
to-morrow.  Don't  any  of  you  men  ask  me  over  to 
Bob's  to  drink,  for  I  won't  go.  I  give  Bob  notice 
now,  I'm  going  to  drive  him  out  of  business  if  I  can. 
I  don't  want  to  hurt  his  hotel,  but  I  do  want  to  dam 
the  stream  that  flows  over  his  bar.  That  hotel  was 
started  as  a  Temperance  House  in  this  town  many  years 
ago  by  the  preacher's  father  and  some  of  his  father's 
friends  who  put  up  the  money.  As  a  business  venture 
it  broke  down.  You  hypocrites  let  it  break  down. 
You  got  men  in  there  who  couldn't  keep  a  hotel  with 
out  rum,  so  they  said.  But  Bob  can.  He  knows  how 
to  do  just  that,  if  he's  a  mind  to.  Besides  that,  Bob's 
got  a  good  boy :  a  boy  that  Bob,  and  you  men  who 
drink  there  on  the  sly,  are  fitting  for  hell,  and  I  want 
to  see  him  saved,  and  to  save  him  I'm  going  to  bust 
Bob's  bar  sometime.  There'll  be  a  meeting  here  to 
morrow  night,"  he  concluded  abruptly,  "  and  if  the 
parson  won't  preach,  I  will." 

As  his  sermon  ended,  this  strange  preacher  burst 
out  singing,  "  There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood," 
and  again  the  congregation  sang  the  hymn  clear 
through.  Then  Joe  said,  "  Now,  elder." 

Elder  Harfis  rose.  "Friends,"  he  began,  "  I  have 
been  an  elder  in  this  church  for  fifteen  years.  I  never 
gave  ten  dollars  a  year  to  the  support  of  the  gospel, 
outside  of  my  pew-rent,  while  pew-rents  lasted.  Joe 
Smith  has  been  very  rough  on  us  to-night,  but  what  he 
said  is  true.  I  have  done  everything  I  could  to  get 


132  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR, 

out  of  giving  a  cent  to  the  church.  I  got  you  to  do 
away  with  pew-rents  for  just  that  and  nothing  else. 
I  have  made  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars 
clean  money  out  of  my  business  enterprises  in  the  last 
fifteen  years.  Now  I  am  going  to  begin  to  pay  my 
debts."  What  followed  then  made  me  start  with 
surprise. 

"  I  will  give  twenty-five  hundred  dollars  to  the  pas 
tor,"  went  on  my  elder.  "  He  has  been  here  more 
than  three  years.  He  has  had  one  thousand  dollars  a 
year  salary.  He  has  been  worth  twice  that.  Just 
because  he  was  one  of  our  boys,  and  his  mother's 
house  was  here,  we  thought  we  would  save  money  on 
him.  I  led  in  that  too,  and  it  was  mean.  Now  I 
•will  pay  up.  More  than  that,  this  church  needs 
repairs,  painting,  and  all  sorts  of  things.  I  will  give 
five  thousand  dollars  for  that ;  and  whatever  the 
meetings  we  are  going  to  hold  may  cost,  I  will  pay 
too." 

As  the  elder  took  his  seat,  some  one  struck  up, 
"  When  I  survey  the  wondrous  cross."  When  the 
hymn  was  ended,  Joe  said  : 

"  There'll  be  no  benediction  here  to-night.  This  is 
not  the  parson's  affair  at  all.  This  is  an  independent 
congregational  meeting.  My  brother  Tim  Wendell, 
who  is  over  there  in  the  back  corner,  will  close  this 
meeting  with  a  prayer." 

That  was  the  finest  moment  of  the  whole  fine 
evening.  Mr.  Wendell — I  cannot  say  Tim  when  I 
think  of  it — rose  and  prayed  : 

"  Father  Divine,  I  have  never  been  called 
a  Christian.  I  have  professed  nothing,  but  I 
have  reverenced  Thee.  As  far  as  I  have 
known  what  truth  is,  I  have  been  true.  So,  I 


JOE  SURPRISES  ME  133 

pray,  make  this  people  true.  Make  them 
know  that  pure  religion  and  undefiled  before 
God,  even  the  Father,  is  this,  to  visit  the 
fatherless  and  widows  in  their  affliction,  and 
to  keep  himself,  each  man,  and  to  keep  her 
self,  each  woman,  unspotted  from  the  world, 
unspotted  from  the  world,  unspotted  from 
the  world.  This  is  the  kind  of  religion  I 
want  to  see  in  Greenton.  Let  us  have  this, 
O  Lord  God  Almighty.  Amen." 

That  was  the  end.  A  very  quiet,  solemn  congrega 
tion  went  out  of  that  church  edifice. 

I  was  hardly  inside  my  study  door,  when  there  was 
a  knock  and  Elder  Harfis  entered.  I  started  to  rise. 

"Don't  rise,  pastor,"  he  said.  "Here's  my  check 
for  twenty-five  hundred  dollars.  You  will  forgive  my 
past,  I  know.  I  do  not  know  whether  God  will  for 
give  me  or  not."  And  the  proud-spirited,  cold  old 
man  threw  himself  down  on  his  knees  beside  me, 
brokenly  sobbing  out  his  prayer.  All  I  could  say 
was,  "  You  say  you  know  I  will  forgive  you,  and  you 
do  not  know  whether  God  will  or  not  ?  Am  I,  then, 
better  than  God  ?  "  The  words  satisfied  him.  After 
a  little  he  arose,  and  with  a  grasp  of  my  hand,  "  Good 
night,  my  pastor,  my  friend,"  he  said.  "  Good  night. 
God  is  in  Greenton  :  is  here  to  forgive  and  bless." 

He  passed  out  into  the  night.  As  I  resumed  my 
chair,  I  knew  in  my  soul  that  what  the  elder  had  said 
was  true.  I  knew  that  I  myself  was  face  to  face  with 
God.  And  I  made  account  neither  of  time  nor  of 
place,  until  I  became  conscious  that  the  sunlight  was 
shining  in  at  my  window. 


XII 

WHICH   RECORDS  TWO  JOURNEYS 

THE  trip  from  Greenton  to  New  York  by  day, 
thirty  years  ago,  Avas  rather  tedious.  I  was 
weary  when  the  Hudson  River  train  stopped 
finally  in  the  great  city.  A  leisurely  stroll  across  to 
Fifth  Avenue,  and  down  that  thoroughfare,  looking 
in  at  the  shop  windows  now  and  then,  seemed  a  sen 
sible  way  in  which  to  rest.  It  was  a  Saturday  in 
October,  and  I  was  bound  for  Plain  ton,  New  Jersey, 
to  be  guest  of  Major  Ardman  over  Sunday  and 
Monday.  The  meetings  which  Joe  Smith  and  Elder 
Harfis  had  begun  had  progressed  with  no  interruption 
for  three  whole  months,  producing  very  remarkable 
results.  Jimmie  MacNaughton  had  signed  the  pledge 
the  very  first  week,  under  Joe's  lead,  and  the  tavern- 
keeper's  boy  had  flatly  refused  to  mix  drinks  any 
longer  at  his  father's  bar.  More  than  a  thousand 
people  had  been  converted,  most  of  them  adults.  Joe 
Smith  had  been  in  town  four  times,  and  each  time  I 
had  let  him  occupy  my  pulpit.  His  preaching  would 
have  astonished  my  Andover  professors,  but  it  was 
eloquent  and  mighty  for  convicting  men  of  sin.  My 
church  membership  had  gone  up  from  about  three 
hundred  to  over  nine  hundred.  Those  three  months 
had  been  very  wonderful.  Letters  had  passed  occasion 
ally  between  Major  Ardman  and  me,  and  David 
Henderson  and  me.  As  they  had  been  present  at 
the  beginning  of  the  work,  they  kept  in  touch  with 

134 


WHICH  RECORDS  TWO  JOURNEYS      135 

its  progress.  Henderson  bad  repeatedly  invited  me 
to  visit  him,  and  only  recently  the  Major  had  urged 
me  to  preach  for  the  church  in  Plainton.  To  make 
his  plea  more  effective,  he  had  proposed  that  I  ad 
dress  the  Presbyterian  Union  of  his  city  on  Monday 
night,  narrating  the  events  of  the  great  revival.  I 
had  finally  accepted  his  invitation,  and  Henderson's 
also,  intending  to  pay  both  visits  during  my  absence 
from  home.  So  it  came  about  that  this  October 
Saturday  found  me  in  the  afternoon  sauntering  down 
Fifth  Avenue,  in  an  idle,  care-free  mood. 

I  had  gone  almost  to  Schaus'  picture  gallery,  antici 
pating  enjoyment  in  scanning  the  paintings  and  en 
gravings  there,  when  I  saw  a  young  man  and  woman 
step  out  of  the  passing  throng  to  stop  before  the 
very  window  toward  which  my  course  was  directed. 
There  was  but  one  girl  in  the  world  with  that  face 
and  figure.  I  had  last  seen  her  wrapped  in  my  woods 
blanket  in  a  canoe  on  Indian  Lake,  almost  six  months 
before.  The  man  was  a  good-looking,  well-dressed 
young  swell,  I  thought.  He  was  well  enough,  but  I 
was  envious  to  think  that  he  could  walk  with  that 
girl  in  a  way  which  fate  had  never  yet  granted  me.  I 
was  wondering  who  he  was,  and  wishing,  in  most  unpar- 
son-like  way,  that  I  could  kick  him  into  the  middle  of 
the  street,  when  the  girl's  eyes  and  mine  met.  Her  face 
flushed,  while  I  paused  a  second,  intent  to  frame  my 
greeting  in  just  the  right  way,  when  I  heard  her  say 
to  the  man,  with  deliberation,  and  so  loudly  that  I 
knew  she  meant  me  to  hear,  "  There  ought  to  be  a  law 
to  keep  men  from  staring  at  women  in  the  street." 

Just  before  she  spoke  I  had  fancied  she  half  started 
toward  me;  then  her  face  had  turned  white  and 
hard,  as  she  spoke  her  fierce  sentence.  I  did  not  de- 


136  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

serve  it.  I  had  not  stared.  I  had  been  delighted  to 
see  once  more  the  girl  I  loved,  and  all  the  memory  of 
that  Adirondack  drive  had  flashed  through  my  mind. 
What  a  pleasure  I  was  about  to  have.  Then  came 
the  dispelling  of  the  dream.  It  was  plain  the  girl  had 
taken  strong  dislike  to  me,  and  my  wrath  and  morti 
fication  were  intense.  I  plunged  into  the  middle  of 
the  street  to  hail  a  stage  passing  down-town,  and  was 
at  once  at  my  wits'  end  in  dodging  the  stream  of 
carriages  of  every  kind.  Two  or  three  times  I  was 
nearly  run  down,  and  I  knew  I  was  making  a  sorry 
spectacle  of  myself.  The  shouting  drivers  discon 
certed  me,  my  self-possession  vanished  ;  but  I  finally 
reached  the  stage  and  clambered  to  the  top.  The 
whole  thing  was  over  in  two  or  three  minutes,  but  it 
seemed  like  an  age.  When  I  was  seated  safely  I 
looked  back  toward  Schaus'  shop  front.  The  couple 
had  moved  down  the  walk,  keeping  abreast  of  the 
stage.  The  girl  was  watching  the  outcome  intently. 
Her  face  was  like  marble,  but  the  man  seemed  bored. 
As  my  eyes,  blazing  with  anger,  encountered  hers  with 
a  strong  impact,  I  saw  a  look  of  relief  go  across  her 
face  while  the  color  came  surging  back.  Then  her  eyes 
turned  away  and  she  dropped  her  head.  Plainly  she 
had  been  frightened,  and  I  was  gratified.  I  rode 
away  down  to  Liberty  Street.  My  anger  grew  hotter 
with  every  turn  of  the  wheels.  But  there  was  grim 
happiness  in  the  anger.  I  had  frightened  the  goddess 
if  I  had  done  no  more. 

At  Plainton  I  obeyed  instructions  given  me  by 
Major  Ardman,  and  drove  to  his  residence.  He  met 
me  at  the  door  with  a  hearty  hospitality  that  left  no 
doubt  of  his  genuine  pleasure  in  seeing  me.  After  his 
salutation  his  first  words  were,  "  I  wouldn't  have 


WHICH  RECORDS  TWO  JOURNEYS      137 

missed  that  Greenton  Sunday  for  any  consideration. 
It  was  great.  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  I 
wonder  at  it.  Has  Joe  Smith  held  fast  his  profession  ?" 

"  Yes,"  I  replied.  The  Major  had  taken  away  with 
one  sentence  all  the  resentment  I  had  been  feeling. 
"  Yes,  Joe  will  always  hold  out.  In  many  respects  he 
is  the  greatest  Christian  I  have  ever  seen.  He  is  ab 
solutely  fearless  in  his  devotion  to  Christ,  and  his 
adaptability  and  ready  wit  make  him  vastly  popular." 

"  We  will  talk  about  him  later,"  said  the  Major. 
"  I  will  take  you  to  your  room  now.  But  I'll  tell  you 
first,  David  is  here.  He  says  you  are  going  to  Duque- 
boro  for  a  visit." 

"Yes,  I  am.  I  have  put  your  invitation  and  his 
together,  and  I'll  make  one  trip  cover  both." 

"  I'm  glad,"  he  rejoined.  "  You'll  have  the  best 
time  you  ever  had  in  your  life.  David's  a  great  host. 
He's  taken  a  strong  liking  for  you.  That's  strange, 
too,  for  he's  an  undemonstrative  man.  But  he  says 
you  gave  him  a  definition  of  religion  different  from 
anything  he's  read  in  any  book." 

"  I  remember,"  I  answered.  "  But  I  didn't  think 
it  struck  him,  for  he  turned  it  off  with  a  laugh." 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  judge  a  Scotchman  by  his 
laugh.  Or  you  mustn't  judge  this  Scotchman  so,"  the 
Major  replied.  "  You  know,  they  say  the  Mississippi 
is  so  crooked  that  a  boat  going  down  passes  itself  com 
ing  back,  and  returns  its  own  salute.  Well,  David  is 
as  crooked  in  his  ways  as  that.  Not  bad,  mind  you. 
Not  wickedly  crooked.  But  just  tortuous — winding 
— don't  you  know  ?  But  I  must  not  keep  you.  Come 
on." 

The  Major  stood  in  the  parlor  with  Mrs.  Ardman 
and  a  young  man  whose  back  was  turned,  as  he  was 


138  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

busy  with  some  books  on  a  table.  The  Major  pre 
sented  me  to  his  good  wife  and  then  called,  "  Here, 
Felix,  shake  hands  with  our  guest,"  and  to  my  amaze 
ment  I  found  myself  taking  the  hand  of  the  young 
man  who  had  been  with  the  maid  of  honor  before 
Schaus'  shop  window. 

My  heart  gave  one  big  thump,  and  then  I  had  ray- 
self  absolutely  in  hand. 

"  I  think  I  saw  you  on  Fifth  Avenue  this  afternoon," 
I  said. 

"  Quite  possible,"  he  answered.  "  I  was  on  Fifth 
Avenue." 

"  Yes,  you  were  with  a  lady  whom  I  have  met  on  two 
occasions,"  and  I  spoke  the  name  of  the  maid  of  honor. 

"Yes.  I  was  with  her,"  he  answered.  "Where 
was  it  ?  Why  didn't  you  speak  to  her  ?  " 

"  'Twas  before  Schaus'  shop  window.  I  was  about 
to  speak  when  a  remark  she  made  to  you  checked 
me."  I  spoke  as  calmly  as  if  I  had  not  a  great  strug 
gle  over  that. 

"Why,  were  you  the  man  that "  He  never 

finished  that  question.  The  Major  stepped  in,  saying, 
"  Dinner,  parson.  Give  Mrs.  Ardman  your  arm  ;  Felix 
and  I  will  follow." 

I  was  grateful  enough  to  the  Major.  He  had  piloted 
me,  Avithout  knowing,  past  Scylla  and  Charybdis;  and 
I  took  great  pains  that  the  young  man  should  have  no 
opportunity  to  return  to  the  subject.  In  that  I  was 
also  favored  by  circumstances.  We  had  not  been  at 
dinner  long  before  Henderson  was  announced,  and  a 
place  was  made  for  him  at  the  table.  He  was  evi 
dently  accustomed  to  that  sort  of  thing,  and  made 
himself  perfectly  at  home.  I  asked  him  how  he  hap 
pened  to  be  in  Plainton. 


WHICH  RECORDS  TWO  JOURNEYS      139 

"  Oh,"  he  answered,  "  my  presence  is  needf u'  to  ye. 
Ye  mind,  ye  made  the  great  hit  o'  your  life  because  I 
was  before  ye  in  Greenton  that  day,  and  I've  come  to 
gie  ye  inspiration  and  courage  for  the  morrow." 

I  knew  perfectly  well  it  was  curiosity  to  see  and 
hear  me  that  had  brought  him,  but  I  answered, 
"  Well,  if  it  was  your  presence  in  Greenton  that  made 
that  Sunday  and  its  consequences,  you  may  congratu 
late  yourself  on  having  done  more  good  than  falls  to 
the  lot  of  most  men  to  do."  Then  he  started  in,  in 
true  Henderson  style : 

"  Ye  haven't  resigned  from  yon  Greenton  church 
yet,  I  doot  ?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  I  laughed  back  at  him. 

"But  ye  will,  man,  ye  will,"  he  rejoined.  "'Twill 
be  growin'  hot  there,  I  doot.  Ye  played  wi'  congre 
gational  combustibles,  an'  there'll  be  fire  some  day." 

"  There  has  been  fire  all  summer,"  was  my  answer, 
"  Pentecostal  fire." 

"  That's  no  the  fire  I'm  talkin'  aboot,"  Henderson 
answered.  "  I'm  talkin'  aboot  the  fire  o'  the  Lord 
that  consumes  the  chaff  an'  stubble." 

"  Well,  which  do  you  call  me,  chaff  or  stubble  ?  " 

"  Ye're  light  enow  in  your  language  the  day  for 
chaff,"  he  retorted,  "  an'  ye're  set  enow  in  your  way 
for  stubble.  An'  on  that  f  no  benediction '  day  ye  was 
both.  Oh,  ye'll  get  burned  some  day,  I  doot.  For 
the  apostle  says  the  Lord  shall  try  every  man's  work 
by  fire,  whether  it  be  wood,  hay,  or  stubble,  gold, 
silver,  or  precious  stones  — 

"  Well,"  I  interrupted,  "  I  haven't  been  burned  yet, 
and  as  for  fire  breaking  out  in  my  congregational  com 
bustibles,  as  you  call  them  !  See  here,  man,  we  had 
'the  old-time  fire,'  and  we  had  also  a  rain  of  heavenly 


140  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

grace,  which  did  not  extinguish  but  fed  the  fire ;  so 
your  other  threatened  conflagration  was  impossible. 
We  had  a  great  revival,"  I  continued  with  enthusiasm ; 
"  Joe  Smith  started  it — Joe  and  Elder  Harfis." 

"  Man,  man,"  Henderson  interrupted,  "  revivals  can 
no  start  wi'  blasphemers.  Joe  Smith  is  a  blasphemer." 
Henderson  spoke  with  some  heat.  He  did  not  fancy 
Joe. 

"No,"  I  answered,  "not  so.  That  isn't  fair.  He 
was  a  blasphemer,  but  he  is  now  a  wonderful  disciple 
of  Jesus  Christ.  He  preached  four  sermons  during 
the  three  months  of  meetings  whose  like  I  shall  never 
be  able  to  preach." 

Mrs.  Ardman  came  to  my  rescue.  "  Mr.  Hender 
son,"  she  said,  "  I  cannot  have  you  spoil  our  guest's 
dinner  with  your  arguing.  You  know  you  don't 
mean  what  you  say.  After  dinner,  we  will  have  the 
whole  story  in  the  library." 

Henderson  transferred  his  attention  to  her. 

"  Not  mean  what  I  say  ?  Do  I  look  like  a  man  that 
wouldna  mean  what  I  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  do,"  she  replied.  "  I  know  you,  David 
Henderson,  and  you  shall  not  bother  my  guest  an 
other  minute." 

"There's  no  Bible  against' ye,  madam,"  was  the  re 
sponse,  humorously  rueful.  "  The  apostle  only  said, 
'  Let  the  women  keep  silence  in  the  churches.'  He's 
been  sorry  he  didna  say  more,  I  doot." 

After  that  I  was  allowed  to  eat  my  dinner  in  peace. 
But  Henderson  had  not  abandoned  his  purpose.  They 
planted  me  in  a  great  easy-chair  in  the  library  when 
dinner  was  finished,  but  it  was  not  to  be  a  haven  of 
rest.  Cigars  lighted,  the  irrepressible  Scotchman  be 
gan  again : 


WHICH  RECORDS  TWO  JOURNEYS      141 

"  Now,  man,  aboot  the  blasphemer  and  the  revival. 
I  say  they're  no  compatible.  Ye  can  explain  yerself, 
Idoot." 

"  To  explain  myself,"  I  answered,  "  will  make  me 
give  the  whole  story.  And  I  am  to  tell  it  on  Monday 
night  publicly.  You  will  all  be  present.  To  tell  it 
now  will  spoil  it  for  you  three." 

"  Are  ye  afraid  to  gie  it  twice,  for  fear  ye  canna  do 
it  twice  the  same  ?  "  he  retorted. 

Major  Ardman  said  in  a  very  friendly  way,  "  Be 
still,  David.  You  know  better."  Then,  turning  to 
me,  he  continued,  "  Hawthorne  made  a  reputation  out 
of  '  Twice  Told  Tales.'  You  could  not  follow  a  nobler 
example.  Please  tell  the  story.  We  shall  enjoy  both 
nights  equally." 

And  so  I  told  the  story.  I  had  formed  a  rather 
prejudicial  opinion  of  Felix  Ardman,  but  I  must  say 
no  one  ever  listened  to  a  story  better  than  he.  Once 
or  twice  he  interrupted  me  courteously  with  interested 
questions.  I  saw  he  had  both  heart  and  brain.  When 
the  story  was  done,  Henderson  made  a  single  remark. 
"  God  is  a  great  God  when  He  can  save  sic  a  blas 
phemer.  But  I  remember  He  saved  Saul  o'  Tarsus, 
and  that  was  harder,  for  '  he  breathed  out  threatenings 
and  slaughter.'  A  man  must  be  gey  bad  to  breathe 
out  slaughter."  With  that  he  rose  and  said  good-night. 

His  last  words  to  me  I  have  never  forgotten : 

"  My  lad,  ye're  queer,  but  queer  men  count.  I'm 
queer  masel'.  That's  what  makes  me  more  successful 
than  ither  men.  After  our  talk  on  the  train,  yon 
time,  I  had  ma  doots  if  ye  had  a  ca'.  But  I  gie  it  up, 
noo.  Ye  have  a  ca',  I  doot.  But  ye  tempted  Provi 
dence  in  that  revival." 

How   little  we   know.     How  blessed  human  igno- 


142  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

ranee  of  God's  ways  is.  Forty-eight  hours  from  the 
moment  David  Henderson  was  speaking  his  bantering 
words  at  Major  Ardman's  door,  he  was  sitting  with 
me  in  a  northbound  train  on  the  Hudson  River  road, 
whiling  away  the  hours  as  I  retraced  my  way  home 
ward. 

Major  Ardman  took  me  on  Monday  morning  to  see 
Edison's  new  shops  at  Menlo  Park.  We  went  directly 
in  from  there  to  the  Major's  New  York  office.  As 
we  walked  through  the  crowded  ferryboat,  a  gentle 
man  whom  I  had  met  on  Sunday  at  Major  Ardman's 
approached  and  said  : 

"  So  you  have  at  last  received  your  telegram.  You 
have  my  sympathy.  It  is  very  sad." 

"  Telegram  ? "  I  exclaimed.  "  What  telegram  ? 
What  is  sad  ?  " 

The  gentleman  saw  he  had  blundered,  and  he  did 
not  have  quick  tact  to  extricate  himself.  His  con 
fusion  alarmed  me,  and  I  repeated  my  words.  "  What 
telegram  ?  " 

Then  he  answered,  "  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  be  the 
bearer  of  the  news  I  have.  But  you  must  know  it. 
A  message  came  this  morning  from  your  home  about 
your  mother." 

"  What  of  my  mother  ?  "  I  cried.  "  Has  anything 
happened  to  my  mother  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered ;  and  his  words  were  very 
gentle,  and  his  manner  very  kind.  "  Your  mother 
has  gone  home." 

Then  the  floor  of  the  boat  whirled  under  my  feet, 
and  I  fell  into  the  arms  of  Major  Ardman. 

As  we  entered  Major  Ardman's  New  York  office 
Mr.  Henderson  met  us  at  the  door. 


WHICH  RECORDS  TWO  JOURNEYS      143 

"Lad,"  he  said  gently,  "I  know  a'  aboot  it.  I 
heard  o'  it  over  at  the  Major's  this  mornin',  after  ye 
had  gone.  I  went  to  your  room,  an'  picked  up,  an' 
packed  up,  a'  your  belongin's.  They're  here,  in  your 
valise.  There's  a  train  goes  up  the  Hudson  River 
road  at  five  o'clock,  an'  one  leaves  Troy  at  nine- 
thirty.  I've  telegraphed  to  Camblet  for  the  best  rig 
they  hae,  to  be  ready  at  the  station.  Ye'll  be  hame 
by  twelve-thirty  to-night,  an'  ye  won't  hae  to  look 
after  anythin',  for  I'm  goin'  wi'  ye." 

What  Henderson  did  during  the  next  four  days 
endeared  him  to  me  past  all  forfeiture.  He  accom 
panied  me  back  to  my  empty  home.  He  attended  to 
every  detail  of  the  last  sad  ceremonial.  He  found 
where  Joe  Smith  was,  telegraphed  for  him,  and  paid 
his  expenses  to  Greenton,  in  order  that  he  might 
speak  at  the  funeral.  He  called  together  the  session 
of  the  church  and  told  the  members  they  must  give 
me  a  six  months'  vacation  abroad.  Not  until  all  this 
was  done,  did  he  say  good-bye. 

His  farewell  words  were  unlike  any  others  he  ever 
said  to  me. 

"  Guid-bye,"  he  said.  "  Brace  up,  man.  •  Your  lot 
is  the  common  lot  of  a',  only  it  came  in  a  very  hard 
way.  But,  man,  God  spared  ye  the  mither  a  long 
time."  His  voice  was  growing  husky.  "  Mine  went 
when  I  was  but  a  bairn.  Had  she  lived  so  long  as 
yours  I  might  perhaps  hae  been  a  better  man.  Guid- 
bye.  Go  over  the  sea.  When  ye  come  hame,  I'll  hae 
somethin'  for  ye,  I  hope,  but  ye  can't  tell  always. 
Guid-bye.  Ye'll  be  strong,  I  dinna  doot." 


XIII 
ON  SHIPBOARD 

THE  night  before  Henderson  left  for  home,  a 
committee  of  the  church  and  people  of  Green- 
ton  brought  me  a  purse  of  two  thousand 
dollars  in  gold  to  defray  the  expenses  of  the  foreign 
tour.  The  gift  was  a  great  surprise.  It  was  pre 
sented  in  a  simple,  beautiful  way,  but  I  demurred,  say 
ing  I  had  not  yet  used  the  gift  made  by  Elder  Harfis. 
The  committee  would  not  listen  to  my  demurral,  and 
Henderson  came  to  its  help  with  a  proposition  that  I 
accepted  almost  before  I  knew  what  I  had  done. 

"  Ye  haena  used  the  twenty-five  hundred  the  elder 
gave  ye  ?  "When  wad  the  elder  be  givin'  ye  that  ?  " 

In  a  moment  the  story  was  told.  He  was  evidently 
greatly  pleased,  but  he  said,  "  Ye're  juist  like  a'  the 
meenisters.  Juist  like  a'  o'  them." 

"  How  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Man,  ye  dinna  ken  what  to  do  wi'  guid  money. 
Think  o'  yersel' ;  twenty-five  hundred  in  yer  hauns 
almost  four  months,  losin'  interest,  an'  ye  no'  carin'." 

u  Well,  what  better  could  I  have  done  ?  It  is  in 
the  bank  safely.  I  might  have  invested  it  and  lost  it." 

"  I'll  invest  it  for  ye  \vhaur  ye  won't  lose  it.  Gie 
it  to  me,  man.  I'll  pay  ye  sax  per  cent,  for  it,  and  I'll 
not  lose  it.  I'll  account  for  it  when  ye  least  expect, 
an'  I'll  tell  ye  what  to  do  wi'  it  then." 

I  drew  him  a  check  then  and  there,  and  in  return 
he  wrote  a  demand  note,  which  I  had  for  many  years. 

144 


ON  SHIPBOARD  145 

When  the  twenty-five  hundred  was  in  Henderson's 
hand  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  take  the  money 
which  the  committee  had  brought. 

Henderson  and  I  were  late  reaching  The  Western- 
land.  We  had  lunched  at  the  St.  Denis,  and  he 
would  have  a  cab  to  go  over  to  Jersey  City.  I  was 
very  nearly  left.  The  last  visitors  were  coming  off, 
and  Henderson  could  not  go  on  board  with  me.  As  I 
went  up  the  gang-plank,  Bruce  Fraser  came  down. 
He  paused  for  a  moment,  said,  "  You  ?  Are  you  a 
passenger  ?  " 

"  Yes,  why  not  ?  "  I  said. 

"  All  aboard."  rang  sharp  and  clear.  Each  of  us 
started. 

«  Why  not  ?  "  Bruce  repeated.  "  There's  no  '  why 
not '  that  I  know  of.  This  is  a  free  country."  His 
face  was  flushed.  His  breath  was  beery.  As  he 
went  down  the  plank,  I  heard  him  say,  "  Damn  that 
minister."  Then  I  knew  by  intuition  that  the  maid  of 
honor  was  to  be  a  fellow-passenger,  and  the  thought 
dashed  the  high  anticipation  with  which  I  had  come 
to  the  steamer.  When  the  first  call  for  dinner  came, 
the  maid  of  honor  and  her  brother  went  down  the 
companionway  stairs  just  in  advance  of  me  ;  but  they 
did  not  go  to  the  captain's  table,  at  which  Henderson 
had  secured  me  a  seat. 

Two  whole  days  passed  before  we  met.  She  knew 
who  her  fellow-passengers  were,  for  every  one  had 
scanned  with  curious  scrutiny  the  sailing-list.  I  had, 
when  first  on  board.  Just  as  I  supposed,  there  were 
the  names,  and  Newark,  New  Jersey,  but  there  was 
no  wife  of  the  brother  along,  and  that  made  me 
wonder  a  little.  She  was  avoiding  me  clearly  enough, 
and  I  had  not  the  courage  to  face  such  a  look  as  she 


146  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

had  given  me  before  Schaus'  window.  Her  brother 
and  I  had  recalled  that  Adirondack  drive,  and  he  had 
thanked  me  once  more  profusely  for  my  courtesy.  I 
told  him  bluntly  enough  it  was  not  mine,  but  Wen 
dell's.  The  third  afternoon,  just  before  dinner,  while 
the  sea  was  rolling  heavily,  and  I  was  feeling  a  trifle 
uncomfortable,  as  I  lay  in  my  steamer  chair,  she 
passed,  walking  briskly,  with  a  lady  and  two  young 
men.  In  her  promenading  heretofore,  she  had  been 
careful  to  pass  far  toward  the  bow,  but  had  evidently 
forgotten  my  locality  in  the  exhilaration  of  the  walk. 
I  saw  her  coming  before  she  saw  me,  so  that  foresight 
had  given  opportunity  for  fore-guarding.  As  she 
passed,  my  face  was  buried  in  a  book,  but  I  was 
watching  her  for  all  that.  She  did  not  see  me  until 
just  as  the  party  was  opposite ;  then  her  face  flushed, 
her  eyes  flashed,  her  step  quickened.  I  knew  the  look. 
I  had  seen  it  first  at  St.  David's.  "  Why,  what's  the 
matter  with  you  ?  "  said  a  girl's  voice.  "  When  you 
saw  that  man  you  jumped  as  if  you  were  shot." 

"  What  man  ?  "  she  replied.  "  Where  ?  I  think  I 
slipped  on  some  spray  on  the  deck.  I  am  not  so  afraid 
of  men  that  I  jump  when  I  see  them." 

"  All  the  same,  you  jumped,"  laughed  the  other 
girl.  "  Come  now  :  who  was  he  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know,  if  I  did  not  see  him  ?  "  said 
the  maid  of  honor.  But  I  noticed  the  party  did  not 
tramp  past  me  again. 

On  the  fifth  day  out,  when  half  way  over,  I  sat  in 
my  steamer  chair  watching  a  school  of  porpoises  play. 
Probably  they  knew  their  game.  I  did  not.  But 
they  were  so  alert,  their  colors  flashed  so  beautifully 
in  the  sunlight,  that  I  cried  out  as  a  pleased  boy 
might  have  done : 


ON  SHIPBOARD  147 

"  Oh,  you  beauties — I  wish  I  could  speak  your  lan 
guage.  I  would  know  what  you  are  so  merry  over." 

The  man  in  the  steamer  chair  next  mine,  whom  I 
had  not  particularly  noticed,  heard  me,  and  turning 
toward  me,  said : 

"  You're  a  poet,  I  see." 

"  No,  sir,"  I  answered.  "  No  poet ;  only  a  country 
preacher." 

"  Poet,  for  all  that,"  he  answered  in  a  friendly 
voice.  "  Who  but  a  poet  would  think  about  speaking 
the  language  of  porpoises,  and  finding  the  causes  of 
their  merriment  ?  " 

"  Why,  anybody,"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  nonsense,"  was  his  quick  reply ;  "  there's  not 
another  person  on  this  boat  who  has  ever  thought  of 
such  a  thing."  Then,  as  a  man  was  passing,  a  finely 
dressed  man,  with  every  evidence  of  well-to-do  com 
fort  about  him,  my  deck-mate  accosted  him  suddenly, 
"  Pardon  me,  dear  sir,  but  did  it  ever  occur  to  you 
that  those  porpoises  there  have  a  language  which  they 
speak  to  each  other,  and  that  they  are  playing  a  very 
merry  game  ?  " 

"  What,  those  fish  there  ?  "  was  the  brusque  reply. 
"  No ;  fish  can't  talk.  Fish  don't  know  anything 
about  being  merry.  Are  you  crazy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  the  questioner.  "  This  gentleman 
and  I  were  talking  about  poetry,  that  was  all." 

"Do  you  see?"  said  my  new  acquaintance,  "there 
are  one  hundred  and  eighty  passengers  on  this  boat, 
and  I  can  get  an  answer  like  that  from  three  out  of 
every  four  of  them.  There's  not  one  who  in  a  whole 
life,  on  personal  initiative,  will  say  such  a  thing  as  I 
overheard  you  say." 

The  Westernland  had  sailed  on  Saturday.     On  the 


148  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

second  Sunday  the  captain  asked  me  to  speak  after  he 
had  read  the  Anglican  service.  When  the  brief  dis 
course  was  ended,  the  captain  said,  "  One  of  our  ladies 
has  consented  to  sing  my  favorite  hymn  for  us. 
That  will  end  this  Sabbath  service." 

One  of  the  young  men  of  the  promenading  party 
went  to  the  piano ;  and  the  maid  of  honor  rose  and 
sang  the  hymn  which  has  never  since  ceased  to  echo 
in  my  soul :  "  Art  thou  weary,  art  thou  languid  ?  " 
Seldom  has  a  song  so  moved  me.  Her  voice  was  ex 
quisite,  rich,  deep,  strong,  clear,  melodious.  I  had 
never  known  she  could  sing.  I  said  to  myself,  how 
can  a  girl,  who  can  sing  like  that,  look  as  she  looked 
at  me  that  day  on  Fifth  Avenue  ?  As  the  company 
passed  out  of  the  cabin,  I  went  to  where  she  stood 
among  some  congratulating  friends,  and  spoke  to  her. 
"  Pardon  me,"  I  said,  "  but  the  finish  you  gave  to  the 
service  of  the  morning  was  so  beautiful,  I  cannot  re 
frain,  as  one  who  had  a  small  part  in  it,  from  express 
ing  my  gratitude."  She  looked  at  me  as  a  marble 
statue  would  look  if  it  had  a  soul,  and  said,  "  Thank 
you ;  the  least  I  can  say  is,  the  service  inspired  the 
song."  Before  I  could  say  more,  had  I  wished,  she 
had  turned  away  and  gone  to  the  deck  with  the  ac 
companist  of  her  song. 

My  chance  acquaintance  of  the  porpoises  was  await 
ing  me  on  deck,  and  with  him  the  brother  of  the  maid 
of  honor.  We  three  paced  the  deck  up  and  down  for 
a  time,  I  in  silence,  they  chatting.  Suddenly  my 
porpoise  man  said  to  me,  "  If  you're  like  most  preach 
ers,  you'll  be  interested  to  hear  about  a  revival  that  I 
read  about  just  before  leaving  Boston.  We  Boston 
people  don't  believe  in  them  much,  but  this  was  un 
usual," 


ON  SHIPBOARD  149 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

Then  to  my  great  surprise  he  told  the  Greenton 
story.  If  he  had  read  the  sailing-list,  and  had  seen 
the  name  Greenton,  why  he  did  not  connect  me  and 
the  place  and  the  event,  I  do  not  know.  The  maid  of 
honor's  brother  spoke  up  and  said,  "  You  don't  believe 
all  that  yarn  you've  reeled  off,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Believe  it  ?  Yes,  I  do.  I  know  it.  One  of  my 
salesmen  was  there  when  it  began,  and  several  times 
afterward." 

And  then  I  was  surprised.  "  One  of  your  sales 
men  ?  "  I  repeated.  "  May  I  ask  his  name  ?  " 

"  Smith ;  Joe  Smith.  Easy  to  remember  in  this 
Mormon-enduring  country." 

"  Is  this  Joe  Smith  any  more  reliable  than  his  great 
Mormon  namesake  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Absolutely  reliable  is  Joe.  Why,  he  is 
one  of  the  converts,  and  he  shows  his  conversion  in 
every  act  of  his  life.  He  used  to  be  wretchedly  pro 
fane,  and  knew  a  whole  lot  more  about  whiskey 
than  I  wished  he  did.  But  he  came  back  to  Boston 
early  in  July  sober  and  quiet,  and  not  an  oath  passed 
his  lips  all  the  while  that  he  was  in  off  the  road.  And 
the  best  of  it  is  he  keeps  it  right  up.  He  was  always 
a  good  salesman,  but  he  is  the  best  of  our  whole  force 
now." 

"Well,  that  rather  proves  that  Boston  has  some 
thing  to  learn  about  revivals,  does  it  not  ?  "  I  said,  in 
as  matter-of-fact  manner  as  I  could. 

"  Yes,  Boston  can  learn  a  great  deal  about  revivals. 
Joe  Smith  can  tell  the  old  city  more  about  real  salva 
tion  than  it  has  known  since  Hosea  Ballou  began  to 
preach  his  doctrine  of  sham  salvation.  Joe  Smith  has 
astonished  me.  I  knew  he  was  smart !  but  I  had  no 


150  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

idea  at  all  of  how  smart  he  really  is."  He  grew  very 
earnest  as  he  went  on :  "  Smart.  Yes,  sir.  He 
preaches.  Think  of  that :  a  road  salesman  preaching. 
I  left  Boston  last  Thursday.  That  morning  Joe  came 
in  with  a  telegram  from  the  revival  church,  saying  the 
minister  was  to  be  abroad  for  six  months,  and  the 
people  wanted  him  to  preach  for  them  for  the  whole 
time  of  the  preacher's  absence.  He  came  to  know  if 
we  would  let  him  off.  He  fairly  took  my  breath.  Of 
course  I  told  him  he  could  go,  but  I  haven't  any  idea 
he  can  fill  the  bill." 

"Well,  you've  fairly  taken  my  breath,"  I  cried. 
"  But  you're  mistaken  when  you  say  Joe  can't  fill  the 
bill.  He  can.  He's  more  of  a  preacher  than  I  am  a 
poet.  He  was  in  my  college  class  for  a  year,  and,  be 
sides,  that  church  of  which  you  have  been  telling  is 
my  church." 

My  companion  looked  at  me  a  moment,  and  said,  re 
peating  my  name  and  Greenton  two  or  three  times, 
"  What  a  dolt  I  am.  I  couldn't  even  put  two  and  two 
together.  Of  course,  I  ought  to  have  known  you  were 
the  man.  I  read  the  sailing-list,  but  I  didn't  take 
you  in  at  all.  But  you  have  taken  me  in.  Here  you 
have  trotted  us  two  men  up  and  down  this  deck,  hear 
ing  all  about  your  own  self  and  never  saying  a  word. 
Well,  I  knock  under.  Pretending  surprise  when  you 
knew  it  all !  " 

"  But,"  said  the  maid's  brother,  "  you  hardly  gave 
him  a  chance.  You  talked  pretty  fast,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  you  did,"  I  said.  "  You  certainly  did  talk 
fast.  And  you  told  me  things  I  did  not  know.  I 
made  no  pretense  when  I  appeared  surprised.  I  was 
surprised  when  you  told  about  my  church  sending  for 
Joe.  No  one  at  home  gave  me  a  hint  of  what  they 


ON  SHIPBOARD  151 

meant  to  do.  I'm  afraid  it  means  my  day  is  done,  for 
Joe  can  preach  as  I  never  could.  But  you  have  lost 
him,"  I  added.  "  He  will  never  go  back  to  selling 
goods  on  the  road.  A  man  who  can  preach,  and  once 
gets  a  taste  of  it,  will  never  stop.  Preaching  is  the 
most  exhilarating,  fascinating  work  in  the  world? 
and  when  once  a  man  knows  the  joy  of  preaching 
the  unsearchable  riches  of  Christ,  nothing  will  stop 
him." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  was  the  answer.  "I 
think  you're  wrong.  Joe  likes  the  road  ;  likes  money  ; 
likes  our  firm ;  and  besides,  he's  a  natural-born  Bohe 
mian." 

"  I'm  not  wrong,"  I  replied  with  some  earnestness. 
"  Joe'll  never  go  back  to  you,  Mr.  Harris." 

"Now,  how  did  you  know  my  name  is  Harris  ?" 
he  asked  in  surprise.  "  Are  you  a  detective  too  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  Only  a  poet  and  a  mathematician.  Joe 
has  told  me  his  firm's  name — Murdoch,  Stiles,  and 
Harris — and  that  Mr.  Harris  was  the  one  of  the  firm 
from  whom  he  received  his  orders.  I  only  had  to  im 
agine  a  bit,  and  add  two  and  two  together.  By  the 
way,"  I  added  in  an  afterthought,  "my  mother's 
name  was  Harris." 

"  Well,  what  next  ?  What'll  you  tell  me  now  ? 
Where  was  she  from  ?  " 

"From  Houlton,  Massachusetts." 

"  See  here,  friend,"  with  growing  animation,  "  we're 
probably  kindred.  My  father  was  from  that  same 
town.  Was  old  Hinckley  Harris  a  forebear  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Yes  :  he  was  my  great  grandfather,  and  a  most 
singular  character  he  was." 

Mr.  Harris  stopped  stock  still.  "  What  a  little 
world  this  is,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Here  we  happen  to  be 


152  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

sitting  side  by  side  on  deck :  you  go  to  spouting  poetry 
at  the  porpoises ;  I  chip  in  with  a  word  ;  the  play  goes 
on,  and  a  regular  Box  and  Cox  ending  develops.  I'm 
not  your  long  lost  brother,  but  we're  second  cousins. 
Isn't  that  so  ?  " 

Then  the  brother  stepped  between  us  and  said: — 
"Yes,  gentlemen,  that's  so;  and  if  you'll  permit  me, 
I'll  introduce  you  two  second  cousins  to  each  other. 
There's  nothing  like  an  ocean  steamer  for  making  dis 
coveries  and  falling  in  love." 

Just  then  the  maid  of  honor  passed,  with  the  young 
man  who  had  played  her  accompaniment.  And  Mr. 
Harris  said,  "  Yes,  especially  the  falling  in  love.  That 
young  couple  seem  to  be  trying  it.  And  I  don't 
blame  the  man.  She's  the  handsomest  girl  I  ever 
saw." 

"  Thank  you,  sir  ;  she  is  my  sister,"  was  the  response, 
and  then  the  bell  rang  for  dinner.  But  there  was 
great  unrest  in  my  heart  during  that  dinner  hour.  I 
loved  the  girl  that  day  as  I  never  had  before,  and  she 
would  not  give  me  a  look  or  word.  There  had  not 
been  even  friendly  recognition.  What  did  she  mean  ? 
There  was  young  Felix  Ardman.  She  had  been 
sweetly  gracious  to  him  that  afternoon,  I  could  see. 
Felix  was  well  enough.  Did  she  love  him  ?  There 
was  Bruce  Fraser.  Of  course  he  had  been  with  her 
on  the  steamer  the  day  we  sailed,  to  say  good-bye.  He 
wasn't  well  enough.  He  was  taller  and  finer-looking 
than  Felix,  but  he  was  a  young  man  whom  no  girl 
should  marry  until  he  gave  up  drinking  habits.  Then 
there  was  this  man  on  board.  I  wanted  to  throw  him 
into  the  ocean. 

We  were  on  our  ninth  day  out.  "  To-morrow  about 
noon,"  the  captain  said  at  dinner,  "we'll  be  at  our 


ON  SHIPBOARD  153 

Antwerp  dock."  I  was  glad.  I  wanted  to  get  away 
from  the  girl.  Once  off  the  ocean  our  ways  would 
diverge. 

The  afternoon  dragged  monotonously  away.  The 
ship  was  skirting  the  southern  coast  of  England,  just 
off  the  chalk  cliffs.  The  day  had  been  lowery  and 
dark  and  the  sun  had  hardly  looked  at  us  so  much  as  to 
see  if  we  were  worth  lighting  a  course  for.  But  away  to 
tho  west  was  a  long  strip  of  space,  beautifully  clear, 
between  the  edge  of  the  low-hanging  clouds  and  the 
horizon.  I  was  alone  on  the  coast  side  of  the  ship, 
leaning  over  the  rail,  beating  the  old  question  of  the 
maid  of  honor  and  the  man  she  tolerated,  and  the  man 
she  would  not  tolerate,  back  and  forth  in  my  brain. 
My  eyes  were  now  on  the  water,  now  on  the  dun  gray 
cliffs,  and  now  on  the  narrow  strip  of  clear  sky.  All 
the  while  the  sun  was  racing  down  the  west  in  behind 
the  clouds,  hastening  to  his  nightly  resting  place  below 
the  outermost  rim  of  the  world.  Then  at  last  he  sailed 
into  that  strip  of  clear  sky  and  lighted  up  the  whole 
world  with  a  wonderful  radiance.  He  flashed  back 
the  great  salute  of  his  glory,  ere  by  departure  he 
should  make  one  more  day  die,  and  touching  those 
dun  gray  cliffs,  turned  them  to  one  gleaming  mass  of 
silver.  A  voice  behind  me  said,  "  And  it  shall  come  to 
pass  that  at  evening  time  there  shall  be  light."  It  was 
the  captain.  "That  is  the  dear  old  land,"  he  said. 
"  See  how  she  slopes  all  emerald  green  down  from  the 
glistening  cottages.  That  is  Merrie  England.  Do 
you  wonder  that  the  Saxon,  and  the  Dane,  and  the 
Norman  coveted  that  lovely  land  ?  And  that  is  the 
Queen's,  God  bless  her."  He  doffed  his  hat  and  passed 
on.  Then  I  said  gently  to  myself,  "  And  it  shall  come 
to  pass  that  at  evening  time  there  shall  be  light.  That 


154  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

shall  be  my  prophecy  for  the  girl  I  love.  Only  I  hope 
the  evening  time  is  not  too  far  away." 

It  was  not  without  regret  that  the  thought  came 
that  night,  "You  and  Mr.  Harris  will  part  to-morrow." 
He  had  been  a  delightful  companion.  Between  the 
two  sets  of  thoughts  caused  thus  by  the  girl  and  the 
man,  my  mood  was  sombre.  It  was  nine  o'clock. 
The  Westernland  had  passed  Dover,  and  her  signals 
had  been  flashed  out  to  the  waiting  world.  I  went 
forward  alone  that  I  might  be  near  enough  to  the  night 
watchman  to  hear  his  mellow  cry  of  "  All's  well,"  as  it 
had  been  heard  so  often.  I  noticed  no  one  near  ;  my 
eyes  were  on  the  stars  ;  I  paused  for  a  moment  to  think 
of  what  was  behind,  and  what  might  be  before,  and 
then,  turning  toward  the  rail,  I  almost  fell  over  a 
steamer  chair  and  its  occupant,  whom  I  saw  in  the 
dimness  to  be  a  lady.  "  Pardon  me,  madam,"  were 
the  first  words  that  came.  "  I  was  looking  at  the  stars 
hanging  low  over  old  England." 

"  So  I  perceived,"  was  the  answer,  and  the  voice 
had  no  sympathy  of  tone.  But  only  one  woman  in 
the  world  had  that  voice.  This  was  the  maid  of  honor. 
There  was  an  empty  chair  by  her,  and  a  rug  in  it.  I 
turned  to  go,  when  an  impulse  bade  me  stop.  "  This 
is  our  last  night  on  the  boat,"  I  said.  "  Will  you  per 
mit  the  pleasure  of  one  final  word  ?  " 

"  Are  words  so  full  of  pleasure  that  you  like  to  speak 
them  ?  I  find  them  borous." 

"  Occasionally  I  find  them  cruel,"  I  answered.  Then 
after  a  rather  awkward  pause,  "  I  suppose  my  words 
are  borous.  They  are  to  me  sometimes.  I  have  to 
speak  so  many." 

"  I  did  not  say  any  such  thing,"  she  answered. 
"  That  was  your  interpretation." 


ON  SHIPBOARD  155 

"No,  you  did  not  say  so,"  I  rejoined.  "But  I  felt 
the  tone.  And  once  your  words  were  cruel.  Why 
were  they  so  ?  Why  are  you  so  distant  here  ?  Is  it 
possible  that  the  best  man  of  St.  David's  is  the  worst 
man  of  The  Westernland  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  so  very  distant  just  now,  when  you  al 
most  fell  over  me,"  she  said. 

"  No,  that  is  true.  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me. 
But  is  it  possible  you  have  forgotten  the  Adirondack 
drive  ;  is  it  possible  you  have  forgotten  St.  David's  ?  " 

"  If  I  am  distant,  as  you  say,  perhaps  it  is  because 
I  have  not  forgotten  St.  David's.  And  why  should  I 
remember  the  Adirondack  drive  ?  That  was  only  an 
other  of  the  instances  in  which  you  have  thrown  your 
self  in  my  way." 

I  was  beginning  to  be  angry,  but  my  great  love  for 
her  kept  my  unruly  spirit  checked  a  little.  I  was 
about  to  answer,  denying  her  charge,  when  she  said, 
"  Why  have  you  followed  me  here  to-night  ?  Why 
do  you  persist  in  efforts  at  acquaintanceship  which 
chance  meetings  have  not  warranted  ?  Why  are  you 
on  this  boat  ?  " 

That  was  too  much  and  I  blazed  out :  "  Pardon  me, 
I  did  not  follow  you  here  to-night.  I  sauntered  along 
the  deck  to  hear  the  watchman's  cry.  What  efforts 
have  I  made  ?  The  Adirondack  meeting  was  not  of 
my  making.  The  Fifth  Avenue  meeting  was  not  of 
my  designing.  On  my  way  to  be  Major  Ardman's 
guest  at  Plainton,  I  was  whiling  away  an  hour  on 
Fifth  Avenue.  And  when  I  saw  you,  as  I  did,  it  was 
not  the  look  of  an  offensive  street  starer  that  I  gave, 
but  one  of  delight  at  meeting  unexpectedly  a  lady  who 
had  had  a  part  with  me  in  what  I  shall  always 
regard  as  one  of  the  pleasantest  experiences  of  my 


156  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

life.  It  may  be  that  I  am  '  worst  man  '  now,  and  not 
'  best  man '  as  I  was.  But  you  will  always  be,  at 
least  in  memory,  Phyllis  Lorraine's  radiant  maid  of 
honor." 

She  stopped  me,  and  began  to  speak  ;  but  I  said. 
"  Pardon  rne,  I  must  finish  now  ;  then  you  will  not 
need  to  speak.  Why  am  I  on  this  boat  ?  It  was  as 
unpremeditated  a  month  ago  as  was  that  Adirondack 
meeting.  I  went  to  Plainton  to  preach  and  lecture, 
scarcely  a  month  ago.  I  preached,  but  the  lecture 
was  not  delivered.  A  telegram  on  Monday  told  me 
my  mother  had  died  that  morning.  I  was  alone  in 
the  world.  I  had  been  through  a  strenuous  summer, 
and  the  new  shock  broke  me  down.  My  congregation 
has  sent  me  away  for  a  six  months'  rest.  Had  I 
known  you  were  a  passenger  on  this  boat,  I  would 
have  delayed  my  sailing.  The  memory  of  the  Satur 
day  afternoon  before  Schaus'  window,  and  the  tragic 
event  of  Monday  are  coupled  in  my  mind  too  closely 
to  make  me  wish  to  be  visibly  reminded  of  one,  while 
I  am  trying  to  forget  the  other.  I  have  tried  to  speak 
with  you  but  once.  This  morning  I  only  paid  the 
tribute  which  a  gentleman  should  pay  to  a  lady  who 
had  most  beautifully  concluded  a  service  in  which  he 
had  borne  a  small  part.  This  meeting  to-night  was 
the  purest  accident ;  and  if  we  ever  meet  again,  be 
assured  it  will  be  by  accident.  So  I  bid  you  good 
night."  In  a  tumult  of  love  and  rage  I  left  her  there 
in  the  bow  of  The  Westernland,  nor  did  I  think  ever 
to  see  her  face  again. 

Harris  and  I  stood  together,  as  the  boat  drew  near 
to  her  Antwerp  docks.  "  "Well,  my  friend,  my  kins 
man,"  I  said,  "  it  will  be  good-bye  presently,  and  to 
me  it  will  be  regret  too." 


ON  SHIPBOARD  157 

"  Why  ?  Why  good-bye  ?  Is  your  itinerary  fixed 
like  Medo-Persic  laws  ?  " 

"  No.  I  hardly  know  where  I  am  going.  To  Rot 
terdam  and  The  Hague  first,  perhaps." 

"  What's  to  prevent  my  going  to  Rotterdam  and 
The  Hague  also  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nothing  but  your  own  plans,"  was  my  answer. 

"  Well,  I  have  no  plans.  Let's  join  forces.  I  know- 
Europe.  You  don't.  Do  you  speak  French  or  Gor 
man  ?  " 

"  Yes,  both,"  I  replied. 

"  Well,  I  speak  neither  ;  but  I  know  the  country's 
ways.  Let's  go  together  for  four  months.  You're 
going  to  the  Holy  Land,  you  said.  I'll  stay  by  you 
until  you  start  on  that  tour.  Then  I  -will  go  home. 
What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  All  right,  I  say.     That  suits  me." 

As  we  were  on  the  gang-plank  he  saw  the  maid 
of  honor  getting  into  a  cab.  "  By  Jove,"  he  said, 
"  there's  that  handsome  singer.  I  saw  you  speak  to 
her  after  service.  Do  you  know  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said.     And  her  cab  door  shut. 


XIV 
ON  FOREIGN  SHORES 

WE  were  in  Interlaken  at  the  "  Beau  Kivage." 
"  Five  or  six  years  ago,"  said  Harris,  "  I 
was  sitting  just  as  we  are  to-night  in  this 
stuffy  little  office  room.  I  had  no  company.  The 
house  was  full  of  Russians.  It  was  raining  hard  as  it 
does  now.  Between  rain  and  Russians  I  had  no 
choice.  There  was  a  large,  fair-looking  man  sitting 
across  the  room,  who  I  could  see  was  eying  me  critic 
ally.  He  was  not  a  Russian,  I  was  sure,  for  he  did 
not  join  in  their  jargon.  I  could  see,  also,  he  was  pre 
paring  to  accost  me  on  the  supposition  that  I  was  not 
a  Russian.  I  gave  him  no  sign  of  encouragement,  but 
he  rose  finally,  and  crossing  took  a  seat  by  me. 

u  '  Ye're  not  a  Russian,  I  doot,'  he  said. 

"  '  No,  I'm  not  a  Russian.  About  that  I  don't 
doubt,'  I  answered. 

" '  Ye're  an  American  tourist  seein'  Europe,  one  o' 
the  do-it-in-six- weeks  kind,  I  doot.' 

" '  You  are  all  wrong,  sir.  I've  been  in  Switzerland 
more  than  six  weeks,  and  it  will  be  six  months  before 
I  see  Boston.' 

" '  Boston  ?  Ye're  a  Yankee  then.  Ye  say  "  guess," 
and  "  reckon." ' 

" '  Well,  I  guess  I  do ;  and  I  reckon  you're  Scotch. 
Am  I  right?' 

" '  No,  you're  wrang.  I  was  Scotch.  But  I'm 
American.  I  dinna  believe  in  the  doubles.  I  was  a' 

158 


ON  FOREIGN  SHORES  159 

Scotch  when  a  laddie  at  Dunfermline ;  but  I'm  a' 
American  now.' 

"  '  Well,  I'm  glad  to  see  a  fellow-countryman,'  I 
said. 

" '  Ye  may  be,'  was  the  answer ;  '  for  I'm  no  ordinar' 
man.  I'm  a  releegious  man.  An'  you're  better  than 
naebody.' 

"  The  conversation  was  becoming  amusing  by  that 
time,  and  to  cap  his  blunt  queerness,  he  said,  '  An'  do 
ye  mean  to  tell  me  ye're  frae  Boston,  an'  no  blush  i' 
the  tellin'  ? ' 

"  '  Yes,'  I  answered.  '  Why  should  I  blush  ?  I  was 
born  in  Boston,  and  have  always  lived  there.' 

"  '  An',  man,  ye're  no  ashamed  ?  Why,  Boston's 
doomed.  Boston's  filled  wi'  lost  souls.  Boston's  the 
home  o'  the  Unitarians.  A  man  micht  as  well  be  a 
blasphemer  as  a  Unitarian.' 

"  Then  I  laughed  long  and  heartily,  and  when  I  re 
covered  myself,  said,  '  But  I'm  no  Unitarian.  I  am 
an  Episcopalian.' 

"At  that  he  tossed  his  head  and  ejaculated, 
*  That's  better,  I  doot.  But  there's  no  much  releegion 
in  Henry  the  Eighth  papists.  Ye're  atween  the 
deevil  and  the  deep  sea,  I  doot.  But  ye  ca'  yersel'  re 
leegious.  Are  ye  releegious  now  ? '  " 

At  that  point,  I  stopped  Mr.  Harris  in  his  story. 
"  Kinsman,"  I  said,  "  that's  the  identical  question  with 
which  that  same  man  began  a  conversation  with  me 
just  about  a  year  ago.  His  name  is  David  Henderson, 
and  I  think  he  must  be  one  of  the  most  singular  char 
acters  in  the  United  States.  He  probably  told  you 
that  religion  is  believing  what  the  catechism  says  be 
lieve,  whether  you  do  or  not,  and  he's  been  a  mighty 
good  friend  to  me." 


160  THE  MAID  OF  HOXOR 

"  His  name  was  Henderson,  sure  enough,  and  that  is 
exactly  what  he  said  about  religion.  Who  is  he  ?  " 

But  before  I  could  answer,  he  spoke  again.  "  What 
are  all  those  Russians  going  out  for  ?  "  He  went  to 
the  window.  "  It  has  stopped  raining.  Let's  go  out 
for  a  breath.  Those  are  wise  Russians."  We  went 
out  and  Henderson  was  forgotten. 

We  strolled  westward,  along  the  broad  road  that 
leads  to  the  great  inns  where  wealth  and  fashion  go. 
There  is  an  open  park,  halfway  up  to  the  Victoria, 
with  wooden  settees  scattered  along  the  margin  near 
the  road.  Harris  had  told  me  of  this  place  and  of 
the  view  which  the  spectator,  when  the  day  is  clear, 
can  obtain  of  the  great  glory  of  Interlaken  and  the 
Bernese  Oberland,  the  Jungfrau  ;  but  that  view  had 
so  far  been  denied  us,  at  first  by  the  fogs  that  filled  the 
valley,  and  later  by  the  pouring  rain.  As  we  sat  in 
the  little  park,  Harris  talked  about  the  great  mountain. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "the  shape  and  bulk  of 
that  mighty  mountain  are  of  themselves  sublime.  I'll 
never  forget  the  gleaming  of  the  ice-cap  upon  its 
crown,  as  I  first  saw  it.  But,"  he  continued  enthusias 
tically,  "  when  the  light  of  sun  and  clouds  is  thrown 
in  glory  on  the  long  down-stretching  slopes,  and  on 
the  fingers  of  snow  that  reach  even  to  the  deep  valley 
below,  as  if  they  would  gather  for  themselves  some  of 
its  verdant  loveliness,  the  vision  is  entrancing." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  there  came  a  movement  in  the  sky. 

"  Look,  look,"  I  cried.  "  The  scene  shifters  of  the 
skies  have  begun  their  work." 

Then  our  voices  were  hushed.  Silently,  unseen 
hands  rolled  the  mists  away  from  Jungfrau's  summit, 
and  then  drew  back  to  left  and  right  the  curtains  of 
the  clouds,  leaving  the  wondrous  brilliancy  of  the  full 


ON  FOKEIGN  SHORES  161 

moon  of  a  European  autumn  in  the  midst  of  the  rift. 
The  light  fell,  touching  the  eternal  ice,  transfiguring 
it  before  our  gaze.  Rubies,  emeralds,  and  diamonds, 
such  as  only  the  magic  forces  of  moisture,  air,  and 
light  can  make,  flashed  and  glowed  in  wonderful 
iridescence.  The  scene  was  beyond  all  power  of  word 
or  pen.  Speechless  there  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  we 
sat  and  watched  the  pageant  of  the  heavenly  light. 
Then  the  curtain  fell.  The  clouds  swept  back  over 
the  mountain's  crest  and  left  the  world  once  more  to 
darkness.  As  the  glory  passed,  Mr.  Harris  repeated 
softly,  "  And  he  carried  me  away  in  the  spirit  to  a 
great  and  high  mountain,  .  .  .  having  the  glory 
of  God,  and  his  light  was  like  unto  a  stone  most 
precious,  even  like  a  jasper  stone  clear  as  crystal." 
He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  resumed,  "  Phillips 
Brooks  is  my  rector.  He  and  I  sat  on  this  very  seat 
one  night  two  years  ago,  and  saw  the  mountain  under 
the  moon,  but  we  did  not  have  clouds  and  darkness 
for  curtains,  nor  the  winds  for  the  shifters  of  the 
scenes." 

By  and  by,  the  rain  began  to  fall  again  heavily, 
and  we  retraced  our  steps  to  the  Beau  Rivage  and  the 
Russians. 

We  were  in  Rome  on  New  Year's  day.  I  found 
there  letters  from  Henderson  and  Joe  Smith,  and, 
most  unexpectedly,  one  from  Harry  Sinclair.  Its 
postmark  was  Duqueboro,  which  aroused  my  interest 
immediately,  and  its  contents  ran  as  follows  : 

"DEAR  OLD  CHUM  : 

"  I  don't  know  where  this  will  find  you,  nor 
will  you  have  the  faintest  idea  how  I  happen  to  be 
writing  from  Duqueboro.  I  am  well,  and  so  is  Phyllis, 


162  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

and  she  says  I  may  send  her  love  though  you  don't  de 
serve  to  have  any  good  woman's  love,  since  you  so 
shamefully  neglect  whole  heaps  of  the  article  that  you 
might  have  for  the  asking. 

"  The  day  after  you  sailed,  Mr.  Henderson  came  out 
to  see  us.  I  wish  you  could  have  come  and  seen  how 
snug  we  were  in  our  little  home  before  we  left  it.  He 
told  me  you  had  sailed  for  a  six  months'  trip  abroad, 
and  the  reasons  that  led  to  it.  That  was  sad  about  your 
mother,  chum  ;  it  was  indeed.  I  didn't  know  a  thing 
about  it.  There  was  no  way  I  could,  you  know. 
But,  old  boy,  everything  a  man  could  think,  of  love 
and  sympathy  for  his  friend,  I  have  thought  for  you. 
I  have  never  forgotten  the  vacation  I  spent  at  your 
home.  Your  mother  was  so  lovely  to  me,  I  envied 
you.  You  know  my  mother  died  when  I  was  only 
thirteen.  That  you  were  away  from  her  was  sadder 
than  all.  Mr.  Henderson  said  he  helped  you  about 
getting  started  for  home.  Why  didn't  that  young 
Felix  Ardman  go  home  with  you,  instead  of  leaving 
you  to  go  alone,  as  I  suppose  you  did  ?  " 

And  I  stopped  reading  just  there,  to  wonder  at 
David  Henderson.  Not  one  word  of  all  he  had  done 
for  me  had  he  told  Sinclair.  But  Harry  need  not 
have  wondered  about  Felix.  It  was  not  that  he  was 
more  thoughtless  than  other  young  fellows.  He  was 
a  good-hearted  man.  Had  some  one  suggested  to  him 
that  he  could  do  certain  things  for  me,  he  surely 
would  have  done  them.  But  he  was  not  cast  in  such 
mould  as  to  act  on  unselfish  lines  on  his  own  initia 
tive.  I  resumed  the  reading. 

"You  will  wonder  how  I  know  where  to  address 
you.  My  guest  told  me.  He  said  he  was  in  New 
York  on  business,  and  happened  to  be  at  the  St.  Denis 


ON  FOREIGN  SHORES  163 

just  as  you  were  leaving  for  your  steamer,  and  so 
went  with  you  to  The  Westernland  and  saw  you  off. 
He  is  very  fond  of  you.  He  gave  me  your  Paris  cor 
respondents'  names.  He  stayed  with  us  two  days. 
Then  nothing  would  do  but  Phyllis  and  I  must  go 
home  with  him  for  a  visit,  and  we  went. 

"  I'll  say  one  thing  for  David  Henderson  :  he  never 
does  things  by  halves.  Nothing  on  the  train  was 
good  enough  for  us  but  the  parlor  car.  The  enter 
tainment  at  his  house  was  the  best  I  ever  enjoyed. 
We  were  there  for  a  week,  and  when  we  returned  he 
sent  us  back  in  the  same  comfortable  way  in  which  we 
came,  and  bore  every  expense  of  the  whole  outing. 
What  a  royal  time  that  was !  Duqueboro  was  my 
old  home.  I  had  not  looked  upon  its  lovely  old  smoki- 
ness  for  five  years,  and  I  was  glad  of  the  treat.  The 
old  place  was  dirty,  but  it  was  dear.  Everybody  likes 
Duqueboro.  You  can't  keep  a  collar  clean  for  a  half 
day  and  the  men's  faces  are  as  grimy  as  if  they  were 
the  faces  of  miners  out  of  the  coal  pits,  but  the  people 
are  splendid.  Some  days  the  fog  is  so  thick  you  can't 
tell  which  side  of  the  street  you  are  on,  and  you  can't 
see  how  to  get  across  to  the  other  side  to  find  out 
whether  you  were  on  that  side  already  or  not.  The 
rector  of  the  Church  of  the  Redeemer  was  away, 
and  arrangements  had  been  made  for  me  to  preach  in 
the  church  of  my  boyhood.  I  enjoyed  that  day. 
Friends  of  my  father,  who  remembered  ms  as  a  child, 
crowded  around  after  the  service  and  said  pleasant 
things.  But  despite  it  all,  I  was  lonesome.  The 
playfellows  of  my  boyhood  were  scattered,  and  those 
that  were  there  helped  to  make  me  lonesome.  The 
people  were  splendid,  just  as  everyone  was  saving. 
They  told  me  I  had  a  perfectly  lovely  wife.  Well, 


164  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

I  knew  that  before,  but  to  hear  others  say  so  was  a 
gratification.  Some  told  Phyllis  I  was  a  mighty  fine 
preacher,  and  she  remarked  that  she  had  known  that  for 
along  time.  Henderson  drove  us  to  church  and  stayed 
to  service.  When  we  were  all  back  at  home  enjoying  a 
good  dinner,  he  broke  out  all  at  once :  '  Lad,  how  do 
ye  manage  wi'  a'  that  jumpin'  up  and  sittin'  doon, 
and  the  choir  breakin'  in  on  ye  in  a'  sorts  of  places 
where  they  shouldna  ?  I  don't  wonder  it  muddles 
your  brain.  I've  heard  poorer  sermons  than  that  the 
day,  I  doot,  but  I  dinna  ken  where,  and  I've  no  use 
for  your  papistry  anyway.'  Isn't  he  queer? 

"He  is  evidently  a  very  important  man  in  Duque- 
boro.  He  seems  to  be  universally  trusted,  and 
people  say  he  is  rich.  He  did  me  a  good  turn  about 
that  old  Texas  land.  Did  I  tell  you  about  that  ? 
You  know,  I  have  a  little  money  left  me  by  my  father. 
I  invested  twenty-five  hundred  dollars  with  a  mort 
gage  company  in  Texas.  The  mortgageor  was  no 
good.  I  put  the  matter  into  Henderson's  hands  be 
cause  he  had  been  my  father's  lawyer.  He  foreclosed 
and  took  title  for  me,  and,  just  about  the  time  you 
sailed,  he  sold  it  subject  to  my  approval ;  and  while  I 
was  in  Duqueboro,  he  paid  me  the  money.  When  I 
had  his  check  in  my  hand  I  felt  good,  for  I  had  thought 
it  lost. 

"  Well,  now,  prepare  for  wonders.  When  I  had 
been  back  at  home  four  weeks,  there  came  a  letter 
from  the  people  of  the  Church  of  the  Redeemer  in 
Duqueboro  saying  their  rector  was  to  leave  them  in 
two  weeks:  that  they  wanted  no  break  in  their 
services  :  that  they  had  heard  me  recently  with  great 
pleasure,  and  now  asked  me  formally  to  accept  the 
charge  of  the  Church  of  the  Redeemer.  So  here  we 


ON  FOREIGN  SHORES  165 

are  in  Duqueboro,  only  six  weeks  from  the  time  we 
went  to  visit  David  Henderson.  Say,  chum — I  wish 
you  were  married.  I  can't  see  how  a  man  can  be 
successful  as  a  pastor  without  a  wife.  But  you  never 
cared  for  girls  much.  Phyllis  and  I  were  sure  you 
would  be  enamored  of  her  maid  of  honor.  You  were 
just  suited  for  each  other.  You  are  both  tall,  both 
fine-looking :  she  is  almost  as  beautiful  as  Phyllis  : 
you  are  dark,  and  she  is  as  fair  as  the  day  :  there  could 
not  have  been  a  better  match,  or  so  we  thought,  but 
each  of  you  acted  as  if  you  never  desired  to  see  the 
other  again.  See  here,  old  boy,  why  not  start  on  that 
quest  now  ?  And  say  !  She's  on  the  same  side  of  the 
ocean  with  you  now.  She  sailed  about  the  same  time 
you  did.  I  don't  know  what  boat  she  went  on.  Her 
brother  is  with  her.  His  wife  died  suddenly  from  a 
cold  she  caught  in  the  Adirondacks  about  a  year  ago, 
and  he  is  seeking  by  change  to  forget  his  grief. 

"  Bruce  Fraser,  one  of  our  ushers,  is  managing  his 
business  in  Newark  while  he  is  away.  In  the  maid's 
last  letter  she  talked  more  about  Fraser  than  I  liked. 
But  Phyllis  says  if  she  loved  him  she  would  not  talk 
about  him  at  all. 

"  Say,  old  chum,  why  don't  you  wake  up  and  go 
after  that  girl?  You  acted  like  a  dolt  through  two 
whole  days  at  the  Wayne  Mansion.  Brace  up  :  go 
after  her.  Write  to  me  here  at  Duqueboro.  Tell  me 
when  you're  coming  home,  and  I'll  get  Phyllis  to  have 
a  house  party.  We'll  invite  you  and  the  maid  of 
honor,  with  anybody  else  that  Phyllis  knows  that 
will  be  nice,  for  foils,  while  you  and  the  maid  can  do 
the  real  sword  act,  you  know. 

"  There's  only  one  more  bit  of  news.  That  Major 
Ardman,  whom  you  saw  in  Greenton,  has  moved  back 


166  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

to  Duqueboro.  He  lived  here  once.  He  and  Hender 
son  are  great  friends.  Henderson  got  a  place  for 
Felix  in  the  railroad  offices,  and  the  whole  family  has 
returned.  I  hear  Felix  finds  Henderson's  daughter 
Julia  exceedingly  agreeable.  Well,  good-bye.  With 
all  sorts  of  good  wishes. 

"  HAKRY." 

That  letter  threw  me  into  a  brown  study.  I  sat 
with  it  in  my  hand  in  the  dingy  little  room,  while  the 
figures  of  Harry  and  Phyllis  and  Henderson  and  the 
fascinating  girl  were  dancing  through  my  brain.  I 
did  not  hear  Harris  enter  nor  know  that  he  had 
entered,  until  he  called  out  in  a  cheery  voice,  "  Hallo, 
old  man  !  what's  the  matter  ?  What  do  you  think  ? 
I  saw  that  girl  down  the  way  leading  to  the  Forum." 

"  What  girl  ?  "  I  asked,  knowing  only  too  well  what 
his  answer  would  be. 

"Why,  that  beautiful  girl  that  sang  'Art  thou 
weary  ?  '  Don't  you  remember  her  ?  I  declare  she  is 
peerless.  I  wish  you  had  been  along ;  there's  not  a 
sight  like  her  in  this  old  city.  All  you'll  see  here  is 
ruins.  But  she  is  no  relic  of  a  past  day.  She  is " 

"  Oh,  stop,  unless  you  want  to  make  me  mad.  I 
wish  the  girl  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  ocean.  She 
haunts  me.  I  think  I  have  beaten  her  out  of  my  heart, 
and  lo !  she  is  right  before  me  in  living  form  again." 

"  Why,  how's  that  ?  "  was  his  question.  "  Do  you 
know  her  ?  Did  you  ever  see  her  before  you  boarded 
The  Westernland  f  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  her,  and  I  know  her  to  my  cost." 

"  Been  crossed  in  love  ?  "  said  he. 

"  No,"  I  replied.  "  Not  crossed,  nor  paralleled,  but 
encircled,  enmeshed  ;  and  I  want  to  get  out,  and  can't." 


ON  FOREIGN  SHORES  167 

"  I  wouldn't  try,"  he  said.     "  I'd  take  what  comes." 

"But  there'll  nothing  come.  I've  renounced  her, 
and  I  won't  stir  a  step  in  Rome  lest  I  meet  her." 

"  Oh,  you  won't  meet  her.  She  and  her  brother 
start  to-night  for  Naples,  and  thence  they  sail  to 
Corsica,  and  thence  to  France  and  homeward." 

"  Well,  for  that  I  am  devoutly  thankful."  I  hoped 
that  would  end  the  matter,  but  it  did  not. 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  he  said.  He  listened  most  in 
terestedly  to  the  recital,  asking  at  the  end,  "  And  is 
that  all?" 

"  All  ?    Isn't  that  enough  ?  " 

"  And  you've  never  called  on  her  ?  " 

"No." 

"  And  never  seen  her  at  her  home  ?  " 

"No." 

"  And  never  told  her  that  you  love  her  ?  " 

"  No."  Then  he  laughed  heartily.  "  Give  me  a 
copy  of  that  sonnet,"  he  said.  "  I'll  have  it  sung  at 
your  wedding." 

"  I  shall  never  marry,"  I  replied.  "  My  romance  is 
over  ere  it  is  begun.  I  shall  never  see  her  again,  and 
I'll  never  marry  any  other  girl." 

"  Oh,  pshaw  !  you  make  me  tired,"  he  said.  "  You'll 
marry  that  girl  yet.  She'll  tell  you  yes  the  first  time 
you  ask  her." 

"  You  say  she  goes  to  Naples  to-night  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Naples  to-night ;  after  a  week  there,  Corsica ; 
by  the  first  of  February,  Lyons  ;  then  Paris  by  March  ; 
and  home  after  a  look  at  the  Lake  Country." 

"  How  do  you  know  so  much  about  those  people's 
movements  ?  " 

"Why,  I  asked  them." 

"  You  talked  with  them,  then  ?  " 


168  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  they  say  anything, — well,  anything  about 
me?" 

Then  Harris  laughed  so  he  could  not  answer  for  a 
little.  When  he  spoke  he  said,  '"  I've  renounced  her; 
I'll  never  see  her  again  ;  I  want  to  forget  she  lives ; ' 
and,  oh,  oh,  oh,  and,  '  Did  she  say  anything  about  me  ? ' 
Say,  are  you  going  to  Naples  to-night  ?  Are  you  ?  " 

I  threw  a  magazine  at  his  head.  He  ducked  and 
said,  "  Yes,  she  said  something  about  you.  Her 
brother  introduced  me,  and  she  said,  '  You  are  the 
gentleman  who  was  with  the  young  minister  who  sat 
at  the  captain's  table,  aren't  you  ? ' 

"  '  Yes,'  I  said.     'He  is  my  cousin.' 

" ' Is  he  ?'  said  she.  '  How  interesting.  What  is  his 
name  ? ' 

" '  Why,  you  know  his  name,'  said  the  brother. 
'  You  met  him  at  St.  David's  and  in  the  Adiron- 
dacks.' 

"  '  Oh,  so  I  did,'  said  she.  '  Where  is  he  now,  Mr. 
Harris  ?  He  seemed  very  nice  that  last  Sunday.  He 
came  and  spoke  about  my  little  part  in  the  service. 
He  hurried  away  so  I  couldn't  thank  him  for  his  part.' 
Then  the  brother  hurried  her  off." 

"  Harris  !  are  you  lying  ?"  I  asked. 

"  No.     That's  the  truth." 

"  Then  you  knew  I  knew  her,  before  you  asked  me 
if  I  did  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  I  did." 

Then  I  threw  my  Baedeker  at  his  head.  He  dodged 
again  and  laughing  in  great  glee  said,  "  See  here,  kins 
man,  you're  dangerous.  Don't  do  that  any  more.  If 
you  happen  to  hit  me  and  knock  me  out,  I  can't  go  to 
Jerusalem  with  you." 


ON  FOREIGN  SHORES  169 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  Holy  Land  with  me  ? "  I 
asked  incredulously. 

"  Yes,  I  am.  Made  up  my  mind  to-day.  Letters 
from  home  make  it  possible.  I'm  going  all  right." 

"  Good  !  "  I  said  ;  "  we'll  call  it  quits." 

All  that  night  I  dreamed  that  I  met  the  maid  of 
honor  on  the  way  up  Vesuvius,  and  there  was  the 
odor  of  orange  blossoms  from  the  villas  that  we 
passed  as  we  ascended. 

"  And  this  is  Jerusalem.  Yonder  is  Olivet.  There 
is  the  brook  Kidron.  It  is  the  old  city,  but  the  aroma 
is  gone."  Thus,  Harris  to  me.  We  were  in  the 
Holy  Land  by  sufferance  of  the  unholy  Turk.  We 
did  the  things  the  tourist  does.  Painting,  scripture, 
poetry,  oratory,  song  have  done  their  best  for  the  old, 
old  land.  The  Turk  has  done  his  worst.  Poverty, 
beggary,  and  things  utterly  intolerable  are  on  every 
hand. 

On  February  first  we  reached  Jerusalem.  March 
first  found  us  in  Beirut.  Do  you  know  what  it 
means  to  be  be-flead,  and  be-donkeyed,  and  be-back- 
sheeshed,  clear  to  the  end  of  endurance  ?  If  not,  no 
words  can  enlighten  you.  Language  is  not  equal  to 
the  working  capacity  of  one  healthy  Syrian  flea. 

One  afternoon,  as  evening  was  drawing  down  on 
the  heights  above  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  in  the  region  of 
old  Capernaum,  we  two  pilgrims  sat  there,  wrapt  in 
meditation.  From  our  elevation  the  water  of  that 
storied  sea  looked  blue  as  sapphire,  while  the  shore 
outline,  far  across,  was  softened  by  enchantment-lend 
ing  distance. 

There  is  a  remarkable  painting  by  one  of  the  gifted 
artists  of  the  world,  that  shows  the  Christ  sitting 


170  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

alone  on  these  same  heights,  gazing  at  the  very  scene 
which  was  spread  before  our  eyes.  Remembering 
that  picture,  fancy  seized  me :  made  me  lose  myself  : 
made  me  forget  that  I  was  I,  and  that  Harris  was 
Harris.  I  was  a  spirit  seeing  spiritual  things.  All 
else  was  real.  The  hills  were  there  :  the  bare  rocks, 
colored  by  time  to  yellow-reds  and  sombre  browns, 
were  there :  the  sea,  that  lovely  sea,  where  once  my 
Saviour  loved  to  be,  lay  placid,  unswept  by  storm. 
A  solitary  sail  of  fishermen  homeward  bound  ere  night 
should  fall  was  moving  the  lazy  boat  toward  the 
hither  shore.  Gadara,  as  Jesus  knew  it  once,  far 
across  the  water,  lifted  high  her  abrupt  mass  of  moun 
tains.  Slowly,  upon  the  heights,  between  us  and  the 
sea,  a  figure  took  shape — the  solitary,  lonely  figure 
of  a  man.  The  face  was  hidden,  for  his  gaze  was 
toward  the  sea.  A  loose  and  seamless  dress  was 
wrapped  about  him.  One  knee  was  bent ;  on  that  an 
elbow  rested.  His  head  was  resting  in  one  hand  :  yet 
though  the  face  was  hidden,  it  was  plain  his  eyes  were 
fixed  as  though  on  something  far  away  :  far  away  over 
the  sea  ;  far  away  over  the  mountains  ;  far  away  over 
the  distant  deserts  ;  far  away  over  the  vast  on-stretch 
ing  continent  of  which  no  man  of  his  age  knew  aught, 
save  only  he ;  far  away  over  the  boundless  ocean  lying 
still  beyond  ;  far  away,  over  and  on,  and  over  and  on, 
until  his  vision  embraced  the  whole  wide  world.  That 
figure  was  the  figure  of  my  Lord.  My  soul  saw  him, 
and  went  out  to  him  in  longing  love. 

The  vision  passed.  Harris  and  I  were  alone.  The 
guides  and  donkeys  were  far  down  the  hill.  The 
night  was  falling  fast.  Reluctantly  we  left  this  mount 
of  memory  and  rapture,  to  go  down  to  the  waiting 
hostelry  below. 


XV 

THE  BUMMERS'  CLUB 

BEIRUT  was  the  farthest  point  of  our  tour. 
From  there  we  turned  our  faces  homeward. 
Greenton  never  looked  more  beautiful  than  on 
the  April  day  of  my  return.  The  leaves  were  just 
taking  on  their  fresh  spring  color,  and  blue  and  white 
and  yellow  crocuses  were  lifting  their  small  chalices 
to  the  sky.  The  buds  on  the  trees  were  swelling,  and 
the  signs  of  nature  astir  for  her  summer  work  were 
on  every  hand.  "  Home,  sweet  home  "  was  dropping 
in  bits  of  half-sung,  half-hummed  tones  from  my  lips 
as  the  stage  rolled  up  to  the  old  house.  It  was  open, 
and  a  group  of  people,  whom  I  loved  dearly,  waited  to 
give  me  greeting  ;  and  as  they  heard  the  rattle  of  the 
Concord  coach,  they  came  out  upon  the  porch.  There 
were  Joe  Smith,  Elder  and  Mrs.  Harfis,  and  a  niece 
of  Elder  Harfis,  Helen  Raymond,  who  was  soprano  in 
our  church  choir.  "What  a  reception  that  was !  My 
hand  was  extended  for  the  shaking  that  we  Americans 
love  so  well,  as  my  foot  touched  the  first  step ;  but 
ere  anyone  could  take  it,  Mrs.  Harfis  threw  both  her 
arms  around  my  neck  and  kissed  me  heartily.  That 
almost  took  my  breath,  then  I  turned  and  deliberately 
kissed  Helen  Raymond,  and  that  quite  as  nearly  took 
her  breath.  "  It's  great  to  be  a  dominie,  and  come 
home  to  your  flock,"  said  Joe.  "  Mrs.  Harfis  has  never 
kissed  me.  But  she  might  almost  any  time,"  he  added. 
"  How  about  Helen?"  said  the  elder  ;  and  both  Joe 
and  Helen  blushed  furiously. 

171 


172  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

It  might  have  been  awkward  but  for  the  announce 
ment  of  supper.  Hunger  and  the  joy  of  eating  home 
things  at  the  home  table,  with  home  friends  about, 
would  have  made  a  worse  supper  like  a  feast.  But, 
yet — and  yet,  my  eyes  went  often  across  to  my 
mother's  old  place  at  the  board.  She  was  not  there. 
And  in  the  midst  of  my  joy,  there  was  pain.  If  the 
rest  noticed  my  look,  it  only  made  them  all  unusually 
thoughtful  for  me. 

As  talk  went  rambling  on,  now  occupied  with 
questions  about  my  travels,  and  now  giving  out  items 
of  news  about  the  church,  there  came  an  opportunity 
for  me  to  seek  a  solution  of  one  problem  which  had 
been  in  my  mind  unsolved  all  through  these  months. 
It  was  about  Joe,  and  the  fact  that  presbytery  would 
allow  him  to  preach,  being  neither  minister,  licentiate, 
nor  elder.  The  opportunity  came  through  Joe's  speak 
ing  about  my  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Harris. 

"  Joe,"  I  remarked,  "  Mr.  Harris  expects  you  back 
in  Boston  next  Tuesday." 

Joe's  quick  answer  surprised  me. 

"  "Well,  the  old  man  won't  see  me  back.  Maybe  he 
will  some  other  Tuesday,  but  not  next  Tuesday." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  next  Tuesday,  Joe  ?  Are 
you  going  to  hold  the  fort  here,  and  send  me  off  to 
hunt  a  new  parish  ?  "  I  asked. 

Mrs.  Harfis  replied  before  Joe  could.  Her  round 
face  fairly  beamed  with  delight  as  she  said,  "  Send 
you  off.  No  indeed.  Mr.  Smith  is  good.  He  is  real 
good.  If  you  were  gone,  we  would  want  him.  But 
he  cannot  hold  any  forts  here  just  yet.  He  has  done 
his  part  like  a  man.  But  that  was  not  your  part. 
We  want  you,  pastor ;  we  want  you." 

"  The  audience  is  waiting  for  the  first  violin,"  said 


THE  BUMMERS'  CLUB  173 

Joe.  "  That's  all  right.  I'm  content  to  be  second  to 
you,  old  boy.'' 

"  Well,  Joe,  if  you  have  been  as  good  a  second  for 
the  last  six  months  as  }^ou  were  in  the  revival  days, 
the  church  has  not  suffered.  And  there's  a  place  for 
you  in  the  Greenton  pulpit  whenever  you  desire,  as 
long  as  I  am  pastor.  You  may  preach  every  time  you 
come  on  your  rounds." 

"  Rounds  ? "  He  tossed  his  head  and  threw  out 
his  hands  like  a  Frenchman.  "  Rounds  ?  Do  you 
think  I'm  going  back  on  the  road  for  Murdoch,  Stiles, 
and  Harris  ?  " 

Then  I  had  to  own  up  that  I  had  not  expected  any 
such  thing.  But  the  question  afforded  the  opportunity 
to  learn  Joe's  status  with  presbytery.  He  had  first 
been  elected  elder  by  the  Greenton  church,  made 
reader  for  the  Sunday  services,  and  after  three  months 
of  study  had  passed  sufficient  examinations  to  be  pro 
visionally  licensed  for  three  months.  Elder  Harfis 
told  me  this,  and  ended  by  saying,  "  The  time  of  that 
license  has  just  expired." 

"  But  I've  not  expired,"  said  Joe.  "  I  am  to  have 
further  examination  this  fall,  and  I'll  be  a  full-fledged 
preacher-bird  some  day.  And  I  have  expectations 
too,  old  man.  The  First  Presbyterian  Church  of 
Grandview,  down  the  river,  wants  a  superintendent 
for  their  mission.  They  have  offered  the  place  to  me, 
and  I'm  going  down  there  next  week  to  look  over  the 
ground." 

"  So  that  is  why  you'll  not  be  in  Boston  next 
Tuesday  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  part  of  the  why.  But  there's  more. 
If  I  like  the  place,  and  the  people  like  me,  and  I  make 
up  my  mind  to  accept  their  invitation,  I'm  coming 


174:  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

back  here  after  Miss  Raymond,  and  she's  going  down 
to  be  my  assistant." 

My  next  speech  was  one  of  the  most  stupid  a  man 
ever  made.  What  Joe  meant  ought  to  have  been  as 
plain  as  day.  "  Why,  but,  Joe,"  was  my  stammering 
comment,  "  what  would  people  say  down  there  if  you 
should  take  Miss  Raymond  with  you  for  assistant  ?  " 

"  Say  ?     What  do  you  suppose  they'd  say  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  they  would  say  it  was  unconven 
tional,  to  say  the  least."  I  chanced  to  look  at 
Helen ;  she  was  blushing  and  evidently  in  great  con 
fusion.  I  saw  what  a  blunder  I  had  made,  but  before 
I  could  repair  it,  Joe  answered : 

"  No,  they  wouldn't.  They  would  say,  *  How  do 
you  do,  Mrs.  Smith.  We  are  very  glad  to  welcome 
you,  and  we  hope  you'll  be  very  happy.'  " 

Then  I  said,  "  Helen  Raymond,  I  beg  your  pardon, 
and  I  congratulate  you  both  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart."  Then  everyone  looked  happy.  And  nothing 
could  have  been  finer  than  that.  Mr.  Harfis  was  rich, 
and  Helen  Raymond  was  good.  The  elder  had  no 
children,  so  that  his  property  would  all  go  to  Helen 
some  day. 

The  evening  that  followed  was  one  of  pure  delight. 
Ten  o'clock  came  all  too  quickly,  and  with  it  the  de 
parture  of  my  guests.  How  good  it  was  to  be  in  the 
old  home  once  more  !  My  mother  was  away,  but  her 
holy  influence  lingered,  and  memory  held  communion 
with  her  that  first  night  back  in  the  old  home.  Noth 
ing  had  changed  since  her  departure.  The  chairs 
were  in  their  usual  places.  The  curtains  hung  just  as 
they  always  had.  The  old  "  what-not "  stood  in  the 
corner,  holding  the  bits  of  bric-a-brac  my  father  had 
brought  from  Switzerland  in  the  long  ago.  Some  im- 


THE  BUMMERS'  CLUB  175 

pulse  made  me  go  over  to  sit  down  upon  the  floor  by 
the  antique  piece  of  furniture  as  I  had  often  done  in 
childhood,  and  in  a  moment  I  was  oblivious  of  all 
things  save  such  as  memory  was  bringing  back,  when 
a  cheery  voice  called  out : 

"  Hello,  Dominie  !  real  Dominie.  How  are  you  ?  " 
and  there  stood  Tim  Wendell,  who  had  entered  in  his 
old  way,  unannounced.  I  essayed  to  rise  as  he  crossed 
the  room,  but  he  put  out  his  hand  with  deprecatory 
gesture. 

"  No,  don't  get  up  ;  sit  still.  I'll  join  you.  I'm 
right  glad  to  see  the  real  dominie.  Joe's  good.  He's 
fine.  He  can  preach — well,  yes,  he  preaches  full  as 
well  as  you  do.  But  he's  only  a  make-believe  dominie, 
as  far  as  we  are  concerned." 

"  Well,  I  must  say,  that's  good !  "  another  voice 
called  out,  and  there  was  Joe,  hitherto  unobserved  by 
either  of  us.  "  I'm  glad  to  know  your  real  opinion  of 
me,  Tim.  But  I'll  tell  you  what,  parson,  I've  done 
what  you  could  never  do.  I've  landed  that  chap  in 
Greenton  Presbyterian  Church." 

"  Is  that  so,  Tim  ?  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  that's  so,"  he  answered  briefly. 

Springing  to  my  feet  and  seizing  Wendell's  hand,  I 
pulled  him  up,  throwing  my  arms  around  him  in  a 
great  hug.  He  wriggled  and  twisted,  succeeding  after 
a  little  in  breaking  from  the  bondage  of  my  arms, 
when  he  cried  out : 

"  There,  Dominie,  that's  enough  :  I'm  not  accus 
tomed  to  that  sort  of  thing."  Then  he  backed  off 
toward  a  chair. 

"  But  is  it  really  and  truly  so  ? "  I  persisted, 
hardly  believing  his  first  reply. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "it's  all  so,"     Then,  as  he  saw  me 


176  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

making  for  him  again,  "  Keep  off,  Dominie ! "  he 
cried.  "  I'm  dangerous." 

"  Tim,"  I  said,  as  \ve  sat  down,  "  I  do  want  to  know 
more  about  this  strange  thing.  You  don't  mind  my 
saying  strange,  for  you  know  it  never  entered  my  heart 
that  you  would  unite  with  a  church.  I've  known  you 
were  a  Christian,  but  I  thought  you'd  go  on  living  as 
you  had,  outside  the  church.  Now,  tell  me  how  this 
happened." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  then  Tim  replied : 

"  Dominie,  you  know  I  never  believed  much  in 
Christians  as  I  saw  them.  I  often  said  to  myself  that 
I'd  never  join  a  church  and  live  such  a  life  as  I  saw 
men  living  who  called  themselves  Christians.  But 
I've  been  watching  the  life  of  Elder  Harfis  for  six 
months,  and  I've  watched  that  old  Scotchman,  Jimmie 
MacNaughton,  and  they  are  showing  that  a  Christian 
profession  need  be  no  sham.  Then,  Bob's  boy  kept 
after  me  until  I  gave  in.  Dominie,  he's  nothing  but 
a  kid  ;  but  the  Scripture's  been  fulfilled  in  him  :  '  and 
a  little  child  shall  lead  them.'  " 

"  What  about  Jimmie  MacNaughton  ?  "  was  my  next 
inquiry. 

"  Well,"  Joe  began,  "  you  know,  he  signed  the 
pledge  not  to  drink,  at  the  time  of  the  revival.  No 
one  supposed  for  a  moment  that  he'd  keep  it.  But  he 
has,  absolutely.  When  I  came  as  preacher's  dummy, 
he  was  standing  like  a  rock.  The  boys  of  his  past 
association  tried  to  throw  him  down,  but  when  a 
Scotchman  says  he  won't,  he  won't :  that's  all.  So  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  use  him.  He  had  influence,  I 
knew,  with  the  very  fellows  that  were  trying  to  lure 
him  back  to  his  dram-drinking  habits.  They  were  all 
Bob's  tavern  bummers.  Getting  hold  of  Jimmie,  I 


THE  BUMMERS'  CLUB  ITT 

said,  ' MacNaughton,  let's  get  up  a  "Bummers'  Club," 
you  and  I.  Let's  get  those  boys  to  join  that  have 
been  trying  to  make  you  drink.  I'll  find  a  room 
somewhere,  and  we'll  meet  once  a  week  and  have  the 
best  sort  of  a  time.' 

"  Jimmie  took  right  hold.  Bob's  boy  induced  his 
father  to  let  us  have  the  big  old  room  where  I  used  to 
show  samples,  for  a  meeting  every  Saturday  night. 
Jimmie  coaxed  about  a  half-dozen  of  the  best  of  the 
crowd  to  come  the  first  night,  and  I  told  'em  stories 
about  my  life  on  the  road.  Next  week  there  were 
more,  and  ever  since  last  Thanksgiving  we've  had 
rousing  meetings.  A  crowd  of  those  chaps  come 
now,  and  '  no  gin  '  is  the  pass-word.  No  ginner  can 
get  in  until  he'll  promise  to  go  without  gin  for  two 
whole  days.  You  know,  I  said  I  was  going  to  bust 
Bob's  business,  or  at  least  the  bar  part  of  it,  and  I've 
pretty  nearly  done  it.  You  come  in  Saturday  night, 
and  I'll  show  vou  such  a  sight  as  you  never  saw  in  all 

v  O  »/ 

your  life.  I've  got  fifty  bums  who'll  be  there,  every 
one  of  'em  sober,  and  they'll  sing,  and  talk,  and  pray, 
so  as  to  astonish  you.  One  of  'em  told  me  he  thought 
'  they  was  astonishin'  God.'  This  is  my  last  Saturday 
night,  and  I'm  going  to  make  a  big  strike.  If  I  win, 
you'll  have  the  happiest  year  in  this  town  you  ever 
had." 

"  "What  are  you  going  to  do,  Joe  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  won't  tell  you.     Come  and  see  for  yourself." 

"  But,  Joe,  I  must  study  Saturday  night,"  I  ob 
jected.  "  I  must  be  getting  my  sermons  ready." 

"  What !  You  going  back  to  that  old  racket  ? 
Been  away  six  months,  seeing  the  sights  of  the  world, 
tramping  over  the  land  where  Jesus  walked  and 
talked,  and  so  hard  up  for  ideas  that  you've  got  to 


178  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

stay  in  your  old  den  on  Saturday  night  ?  I'm 
ashamed  of  you." 

That  was  too  close  a  personal  appeal.  I  answered, 
"Well,  Joe,  I'll  be  there."  To  speak  truth,  I  was 
ashamed  that  I  had  momentarily  declined. 

"  Of  course  you'll  be  there,"  was  the  honest  man's 
reply. 

The  company  that  gathered  in  the  sample  room, 
that  Saturday  night,  was  a  strange,  new  sight  to  me. 
The  Water  Street  Mission,  in  the  days  of  "  Rowdy 
Brown  "  and  "  Jerry  McAuley,"  could  not  far  surpass 
it.  That  Greenton  could  produce  such  a  crowd 
seemed  to  me  incredible. 

Those  men  looked  at  me  in  a  "  what-you-doing- 
here  "  manner.  Joe  saw  it. 

"  Look  here,  boys,"  he  began.  "  Don't  you  mind 
the  parson :  he's  as  good  a  friend  as  you'll  ever  have. 
You  wouldn't  have  had  me  here  to-night,  but  for  him  ; 
and  you  wouldn't  be  here  without  me.  This  club 
came  out  of  what  he  did  for  me.  He's  white  clear 
through,  whichever  way  you  look,  and  he's  straight- 
grained.  Get  up,  boys,  every  one  of  you,  and  give  the 
Dominie  a  cheer.  Up  with  you.  Now  :  Hip !  Hip ! 
Hurrah ! "  And  they  made  that  old  room  ring. 
Then,  while  they  stood,  Joe  led  off,  "  Just  as  I  am, 
without  one  plea,"  and  they  sang  it — oh,  how  they 
sang  it !  Could  Charlotte  Elliot  have  heard  her 
hymn  sung  that  night,  she  would  have  thanked  God. 

There  followed  prayers  and  songs  and  testimonies, 
then  suddenly  Joe  turned  to  Bob's  boy,  who  had  been 
there  all  the  time,  saying,  "  Where's  your  father  ?  " 

"  In  the  bar-room,  I  suppose,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Go  tell  him  I  want  him." 

What  Joe  had  in  mind  was  beyond  conjecture,  but 


THE  BUMMERS'  CLUB  179 

that  it  had  to  do  with  the  "  big  strike  "  he  had  said  he 
would  make,  seemed  plain. 

Bob  came  in  presently,  and  his  boy  followed  and 
sat  down  by  the  door.  Bob  was  a  big  man,  fully 
six  feet  tall.  His  forehead  was  clear  and  high.  He 
must  have  turned  the  scales  at  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds.  His  face  was  very  red  :  he  evidently  was 
one  of  his  own  best  customers.  He  never  became 
boisterously  nor  stupidly  drunk,  but  was  always 
more  drunk  than  sober.  With  a  different  history  he 
would  have  been  a  very  handsome  man.  He  had  been 
a  familiar  sight  from  my  boyhood.  An  employee  of 
a  shoe  factory  of  the  town,  unmarried,  industrious, 
sober,  and  always  respectful  in  demeanor,  he  had  been 
regarded  as  a  good  young  man,  one  who  would  some 
day  be  something  more  than  a  daily  wage  earner. 
But  the  shoe  establishment  failed.  The  men  who  had 
depended  upon  it  for  a  living  were  scattered  abroad. 
Bob  was  almost  the  only  one  who  remained  in  Green- 
ton,  and  to  the  surprise  of  everyone  he  opened  a  saloon. 
He  had  prospered  in  the  wretched  business  until  he  had 
become  proprietor  of  the  main  hotel  of  the  town,  now 
known  as  "  Bob's  "  tavern.  He  himself  had  developed 
into  a  red-faced,  coarse-looking  vender  of  wretched 
drinks,  and  was  surely  on  the  down  grade  of  life. 

When  on  this  Saturday  night  he  appeared  before  the 
club,  he  was  more  red-faced  than  usual,  and  evidently 
further  down  the  grade  than  when  last  I  saw  him. 
The  only  helpful  influences  around  him  were  his  wife 
and  boy.  He  had  married  a  farmer's  daughter. 
Everyone  had  wondered  that  she  would  have  him. 
But  their  love  had  begun  before  Bob  lost  his  factory 
work,  and  the  girl  stood  stedfast.  She  was  by  nature 
a  lady,  and,  like  many  another  woman,  had  thought 


180  THE  MAID  OF  HCXXOil 

she  could  keep  Bob  upright  in.  spite  of  the  saloon. 
She  had  made  his  tavern  popular  by  the  table  she 
spread,  but  her  heart  was  slowly  breaking. 

As  for  the  boy,  at  the  time  of  his  conversion  in  the 
great  revival,  he  had  absolutely  refused  to  be  any 
longer  a  mixer  of  drinks  at  his  father's  bar.  There 
had  been  a  little  storm  over  it,  but  the  mother  had 
taken  the  part  of  the  boy,  and  together  they  had 
broken  down  the  opposition  of  the  father.  The  boy 
had  started  on  his  journey  from  the  bar  to  the  pulpit. 

"  Hello,  Bob  !  how  are  you  ?  "  came  Joe's  cheery 
voice,  as  the  tavernkeeper  entered.  "  Boys,  give  Bob 
a  cheer." 

They  did.  Bob  stood  there,  not  knowing  what  was 
wanted  of  him,  and  not  in  the  least  understanding  this 
reception.  Joe  came  to  his  relief  in  a  moment. 

"  Sit  down,  Bob.  This  is  your  crowd.  You  used  to 
have  'em  out  at  the  bar.  I  got  hold  of  the  whole  lot 
and  moved  'em  in  here.  Which  is  best,  boys,  bar  or 
club?" 

And  they  roared  as  one  man,  "  Club,  you  bet !  " 

"  You  know,  Bob,"  Joe  continued,  "  the  parson's  got 
home,  and  I've  got  to  light  out.  The  parson's  going  to 
have  his  innings  now,  and  I  expect  to  goto  Grandview, 
away  down  the  river.  The  parson  can  run  the  church, 
but  he  don't  know  the  first  thing  about  running  this 
club.  He'd  bust  it  up  in  a  month.  There's  just  one 
man  in  Greenton  who  can  run  it,  and  that's  Bob 
Hazeltine.  He  can  do  it."  He  turned  to  the  crowd. 
"  Say,  boys,  do  you  like  Bob  ?  " 

"  You  bet  we  do,"  came  the  answer. 

"  Now,  boys,  Bob's  going  to  lead  this  club.  He  didn't 
know  it  five  minutes  ago,  but  he  knows  it  now.  But, 
boys,  he  can't  lead  this  club,  and  tend  bar  too  can  he  ?  " 


THE  BUMMERS'  CLUB  181 

Again  they  roared  out,  "  You  bet  he  can't !  " 

"  See  here,  boys,"  Joe  went  on,  "  I'm  going  to  be 
married,  in  church,  three  weeks  from  next  Tuesday, 
to  Miss  Raymond.  The  relatives  will  sit  in  the  front 
pews,  middle  aisle.  Then  there'll  be  a  block  of  fifty 
seats  reserved  for  you,  and  you're  going  to  come, 
with  such  clothes  as  you've  got, — the  best  you've  got, 
of  course, — and  each  of  you  will  wear  a  badge,  the 
badge  of  the  Greenton  Good  Bummers'  Club,  and 
you'll  be  marched  in  together,  and  Mr.  Robert  Hazel- 
tine  will  lead  you,  and  he'll  be  proud,  and  you'll  be 
proud,  and  when  I  come  in,  I'll  see  you,  and  I'll  be 
proud.  But  he  can't  do  it  and  tend  bar,  can  he, 
boys  ?  " 

And  once  more  they  fairly  yelled,  "  You  bet  he 
can't." 

Then,  like  a  flash,  Joe  turned  to  where  Bob  was 
seated,  and  extended  his  hand.  Bob  rose  and  took  it. 
Steadily,  but  very  quietly,  Joe  began  : 

"  Mr.  Robert  Hazeltine,  there's  a  man  in  you  some 
where,  a  whole  man,  if  he  hasn't  been  drowned  with 
drink.  You  used  to  be  the  whitest  man  in  the  whole 
crowd,  in  the  old  days  of  Lamb's  shoe  factory.  But 
you're  not  white  now.  You're  red  and  bloated  and 
beery,  and  down  in  your  heart  you  don't  like  it.  When 
you  stop  to  think,  you  hate  yourself.  You've  got  a  boy : 
there's  not  another  like  him  in  this  town.  He's  going 
to  college.  Tim  Wendell  says  he'll  lead  his  class  right 
from  the  start,  and  keep  it  up  clear  through.  Hell  be 
a  preacher,  Bob  ;  that's  what  that  boy'll  be.  Do  you 
want  him  to  feel  ashamed  to  mention  his  father  be 
fore  the  people  of  the  church  where  he'll  be  settled? 
Do  you  want  that,  Bob  ?  It's  up  to  you,  old  man. 
What'll  it  be  :  club  or  bar  ?  " 


182  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

The  sight  of  Joe  Smith  and  Bob  Hazeltine  facing 
each  other  was  one  never  to  be  forgotten.  Bob  had 
sold  Joe  many  a  drink.  Memory  must  have  been  busy 
in  both  of  them.  Bob  puffed,  tried  to  speak,  stam 
mered,  but  was  relieved  by  a  cry  of  :  "  Don't  cut  her 
out,  Bob."  And  then  another  voice  broke  in  :  "  Bust 
the  bottles,  Bob :  bust  the  bottles.'-  Joe  said  never  a 
word,  but  stood  looking  that  struggling  man  straight 
in  the  face,  still  gripping  his  hand.  Then  the  boy 
Charlie  came  across  from  where  he  had  been  seated, 
laid  his  hand  on  his  father's  shoulder,  and  turned  to 
the  expectant  company,  saying  : 

"  Men,  this  is  not  old  Bob  the  tavern-keeper ;  this  is 
my  father,  Mr.  Robert  Hazeltine." 

Then  to  his  father  he  said  quietly : 

"  Father,  I've  settled  it  for  you." 

Bob  dropped  Joe's  hand,  which  all  this  time  he  had 
held,  and  threw  his  arms  around  his  boy.  "  Yes,  my 
son,  you've  settled  it,"  he  cried.  "  I'll  give  it  up. 
I'm  pretty  well  soaked  to-night.  I'll  have  an  awful 
struggle  to  stand,  but  I'll  give  it  up.  You'll  stand  by 
me,  boys,  won't  you  ?  You'll  help  me,  Charlie,  won't 
you?  Joe,  you  can't :  you'll  be  gone.  But " 

"  But  I'll  stand  by  you,  Robert  Hazeltine,"  I  said, 
filled  with  emotion  at  the  scene,  as  I  rose  and  went 
over  to  his  side,  "  and  Jesus  Christ  will  stand  by  you 
if  you'll  let  Him,  for  He  has  come  to  save  you."  And 
at  that  the  bummers  in  that  room  burst  out  with  the 
Gospel  song : 

"  I'll  stand  by  you  till  the  morning, 
I've  come  to  save  you,  do  not  fear." 

"When  the  noise  had  subsided,  Bob  said,  "  Come  with 
me,  boys.  All  come.  You,  Joe ;  you,  parson ;  you, 


THE  BUMMERS'  CLUB  183 

Charlie."  He  led  the  way  to  the  bar-rooin,  a  place 
that  had  been  all  too  familiar  to  so  many  of  that 
company.  Inside  were  a  half  dozen  loafers.  Two 
men  were  drinking  at  the  bar. 

"  Boys,"  Bob  began,  addressing  them,  "  that's  the 
last  drink  that  will  ever  be  sold  over  this  bar.  I  don't 
want  to  turn  any  man  out  of  my  house,  but  I  must  ask 
you  all  to  walk  out  of  this  room.  I've  turned  over  a 
new  leaf.  In  five  minutes  this  room  will  be  closed  and 
locked,  and  its  lights  out.  The  boys  have  made  me 
leader  of  Joe  Smith's  club  of  bummers.  Joe's  going 
to  leave  and  the  boys  wanted  me  to  take  his  place,  but 
they  told  me  I  couldn't  lead  the  club  and  run  a  bar. 
They  put  it  square  up  at  me,  club  or  bar,  and  the 
club  wins.  I've  got  the  fight  of  my  life  ahead  of  me, 
I  know  ;  but  nobody  ever  saw  Bob  Hazeltine  run  away 
from  a  fight,  and  the  parson  there  says  Jesus  Christ 
will  be  my  backer,  and  I'm  going  to  give  Him  the 
chance.  Walk  out,  boys:  you've  had  your  last  drink 
in  Bob's  tavern." 

Slowly,  one  by  one,  all  went  out.  Bob  put  out  the 
lights  and  locked  the  door.  What  Joe  had  said  nine 
months  before,  in  the  meeting  which  he  and  Elder 
Harfis  had  held,  had  come  true.  He  had  "busted 
Bob's  bar." 

When  Joe  Smith  and  Robert  Hazeltine  came  into 
church  together  on  Sunday  morning,  there  was  a  stir 
in  the  congregation.  The  people  could  not  under 
stand,  when  they  were  assembling,  why  five  pews  on 
each  side  of  the  middle  aisle  close  in  front  were  kept 
free.  They  remained  empty  until  just  before  the 
opening  of  the  service.  Then  Joe  and  Bob  walked 
down  the  middle  aisle  together.  To  see  Hazeltine  in 


184  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

church  was  most  unusual.  But  when  immediately  be 
hind  the  first  pair  came  fifty  other  men  who  were  at 
once  recognized  as  Jimmie  MacNaughton's  brigade  of 
bums,  surprise  and  curiosity  were  at  their  height. 
They  were  not  a  well-dressed  body  of  men.  They  were 
neither  handsome  nor  attractive,  but  the  faces  were 
no  longer  besotted.  Had  anyone  said,  even  after  the 
wonderful  revival,  that  on  the  first  Sunday  after  my 
return  from  a  prolonged  absence,  fifty  of  Greenton's 
worst  characters  would  come  to  my  church,  led  by  the 
keeper  of  the  town  tavern,  he  would  have  been  scouted 
by  me  as  a  dreamer. 

The  programme  that  day  had  its  surprises  even  for 
Joe.  Just  as  the  people  rose  for  the  invocation,  Hen 
derson  and  Wendell  entered  the  church  together.  That 
something  memorable  was  once  more  to  occur  in 
Greenton  church  was  probable,  but  what  form  it 
would  take,  no  tongue  could  have  told. 

The  congregation  was  large,  for  the  news  was 
broadcast  that  the  pastor  was  at  home  once  more. 
The  Scripture  lesson  was  the  story  of  Zaccheus.  His 
confession  made  my  text :  "  And  Zaccheus  said — if  I 
have  taken  an}rthing  from  any  man — I  restore  him 
fourfold."  I  told  the  story  of  Jimmie  MacNaughton. 
Saved  by  the  revival  from  the  sin  of  drink,  and  set  to 
service  by  the  tact  and  resourcefulness  of  Joe  Smith, 
he  had  formed  the  club  composed  of  the  men  who  had 
assembled  for  worship  with  us.  They  had  been 
drunkards,  and  had  been  brought  to  Christ.  The 
remarkable  meeting  of  the  night  before  was  then  de 
scribed,  with  Bob  in  the  role  of  Zaccheus.  Bob  had 
been  taking  things  from  men  for  a  long  time  ,  taking 
health,  taking  character,  taking  home  comforts  ,  taking 
money,  taking  power  to  work  ,  taking  hope  of  salva- 


THE  BUMMERS'  CLUB  185 

tion,  taking  self-respect,  taking  sense  of  honor  and 
giving  in  exchange  nothing  except  the  drink  which  had 
robbed  them.  And  now  he  had  been  suddenly 
brought  by  the  love  and  grace  of  God  to  say,  "  I 
will  stop  all  this.  I  will  make  such  restitution  as 
I  am  able."  I  finished,  "  Beloved  people,  this  man  is 
no  longer  Bob  the  rum-seller ;  this  man  is  Mr.  Robert 
Hazeltine,  our  fellow-citizen,  the  proprietor  of  the 
Greenton  Inn."  Just  then  Jiminie  MacNaughton 
rose  and  said,  "  Noo,  lads  :  here's  to  Robbie  :  Hip,  hip," 
and  they  rose  with  three  great  cheers. 

As  the  noise  of  the  cheers  subsided,  another  volume 
of  sound  took  its  place.  The  whole  congregation,  led 
by  the  club,  was  singing,  "Just  as  I  am." 

There  was  nothing  more  for  me  to  do.  The  meet 
ing  had  gone  out  of  my  control.  Before  the  singing 
had  ended,  Henderson  was  seen  coming  down  the  aisle. 
When  the  song  ceased  he  was  facing  the  congregation. 
He  turned  to  me  first,  saying,  "  I'm  richt  glad  to  see 
ye  in  yer  pulpit  again,  Dominie,  but  ye  had  na  expecta 
tion  o'  seein'  me  here,  I  doot." 

Then  he  turned  back  to  the  congregation. 

"  Ye  will  hae  a'  forgotten  me,  but  the  preacher  hasna. 
I'm  the  man  who  made  all  the  stir  here  because 
I  caught  a  big  trout  in  yon  river,  aboot  a  year  syne, 
an'  I  hae  come  back  again  to  catch  anither.  I'm 
David  Henderson.  I  came  to  town  last  night.  I 
heard  a  muckle  stir  in  the  tavern  aboot  ten  o'clock, 
an'  I  asked  what  it  was  a'  aboot.  An'  they  telt  me 
Bob  had  closed  his  bar.  So  I  hunted  up  Bob  and 
asked  him. 

"  '  Ye've  closed  yer  bar,  Bob  ?  '  said  I. 

"  '  Yes,'  said  he. 

"  '  For  guid  and  a',  Bob  ?'  said  I. 


186  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  <  Yes,'  said  he. 

"  '  Ye're  a  fool,  Bob,'  said  I. 

" '  Like  enough,'  said  he. 

"  '  Open  her  up  again,  Bob,'  said  I. 

"  '  Never,'  said  he. 

"  '  What  made  ye  dae  it,  man  ?  '  I  asked  him. 

" '  Joe  Smith,  an'  the  boys,  an'  Charlie,'  said  he. 

"  <  Who's  Charlie  ? '  said  I. 

" '  My  boy,'  said  he. 

"  « Ye'll  lose  money,  Bob,'  I  telt  him. 

"  '  Likely,'  said  he. 

" '  What  did  ye  make  off  the  bar,  Bob?  '  said  I. 

"  '  Fifteen  hundred,'  said  he. 

" '  What  did  ye  make  off  yer  hoose  otherways  ? ' 
said  I. 

"  '  My  livin','  said  he. 

"  '  Nothin'  more  ? '  said  I. 

"  '  Not  a  hap'orth,'  said  he. 

"  '  Ye're  a  fool,  Bob,'  said  I. 

"  *  Like  enough,'  said  he. 

"  "  Open  her  up,  Bob,  Monday,'  said  I. 

"  '  Never,'  said  he. 

"  An'  then  I  went  off  to  bed.  Noo,  friends,  see 
here  :  Bob's  too  guid  a  man  to  be  let  to  fail.  He's 
goin'  to  run  that  club,  he  an'  my  countryman  there, 
Jimmie.  That  club'll  be  worth  money  to  this  toon, 
an'  worth  more  than  money  too,  I  doot.  Some  one's 
got  to  take  care  o'  Bob.  He's  made  a  big  sacrifice  for 
principle.  Who's  got  principle  to  take  interest  in 
him  ?  I'll  tell  ye  what  I'll  dae.  I  spend  five  hundred 
a  year  on  the  cigars  that  I  smoke,  an'  on  what  I  treat 
my  friends  wi'.  Now,  I'll  gie  that  five  hundred  to 
pay  Bob  for  what  he's  goin'  to  lose,  if  ye'll  gie  the 
ither  thousand.  An'  I'll  stop  smokin',  the  day  I  ken 


THE  BUMMERS'  CLUB  187 

that  ye  have  raised  that  thousand.  Bob'll  stop 
drinkin',  an'  I'll  stop  smokin'.  What  do  ye  say  ?  " 

Then  he  sat  down,  and,  before  my  astonishment 
passed,  up  rose  Alexander  Hobart.  A  sudden  fear 
seized  me.  This  was  the  man  who  had  threatened  to 
run  me  out  of  town.  He  had  not  succeeded,  but  it  had 
not  been  his  fault.  He  had  been  my  thorn  in  the 
flesh  all  that  summer.  What  he  was  about  to  do 
puzzled  me.  "  I'm  glad  to  see  the  pastor  back,"  he 
began.  "  I  hated  him  last  June  :  I  meant  to  drive 
him  out  of  this  town.  I  told  Mr.  Henderson  so,  or  he 
heard  me  say  so.  But  that's  all  gone.  I'm  going  to 
stand  by  the  pastor,  and  I  will  meet  Mr.  Henderson's 
offer  half  way.  I  will  give  another  five  hundred." 

As  he  sat  down,  Joe  began  to  sing,  and  the  congre 
gation  joined : 

"  Amazing  grace,  how  sweet  the  sound 

That  saved  a  wretch  like  me  : 
I  ouce  was  lost,  but  now  am  found, 
Was  blind,  but  uow  I  see." 

When  the  singing  ended,  Elder  Harfis  was  on  his 
feet.  "I  will  give  that  last  five  hundred,"  he  said. 
And  then  David  Henderson  prayed.  The  benediction 
followed  that,  and  the  wonderful  service  was  over. 


XVI 

I  VISIT  DUQUEBORO 

A  LETTER  postmarked  Duqueboro,  in  a  very 
illegible  hand,  was  in  my  morning  mail.     It 
had  not  been  written  by  Henderson  or  Harry 
Sinclair.     It  read : 

"DEAK  SIR: 

"  The  Committee  on  Supplies  of  the  Kir  Jear 
Presbyterian  Church  of  Duqueboro  invites  you  to 
supply  our  pulpit  on  the  last  Sunday  of  November. 
Hoping  it  will  be  possible  for  you  to  give  us  this 
pleasure,  I  am, 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  LEWIS  JORDAN,  Chm." 

My  reply  went  by  return  mail. 

"  Lewis  Jordan,  Esq., 

"  Duqueboro,  Pa. 
"MY  DEAR  SIR: 

"  Acknowledging  your  letter  received  this  morn 
ing,  I  thank  you  for  the  courtesy,  but  must  beg  leave 
to  decline.  Mr.  Henderson  has  given  me  to  under 
stand  that  your  pulpit  is  vacant,  and  my  presence 
there  would  mean  to  the  people  that  I  was  a  candidate 
for  the  vacant  place.  That  I  can  never  be. 
"  Yours  most  sincerely," 

The  following  week  came  another  letter  from  Mr. 
Jordan. 

188 


I  VISIT  DUQUEBORO  189 

"MY  DEAR  SIR: 

"  Your  valued  favor  was  duly  laid  before  the 
committee.  I  am  instructed  to  say, — It  is  true  we 
have  no  pastor,  but  we  hear  no  candidates  in  our  pul 
pit.  The  people  know  that  well.  You  would  not  be 
looked  upon  in  that  light.  A  committee  is  away 
every  Sabbath,  seeking  a  pastor.  You  are  invited  on 
the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Henderson.  Hoping  you  will 
reconsider,  I  am  as  before, 

"  Yours  truly, 
"  LEWIS  JORDAN,  Chm." 

To  this  I  replied  after  consulting  Tim  Wendell. 
"  That  seems  all  straight,"  he  said.  "  Go  on  and  have 
a  good  time.  I  wouldn't  mind  going  to  see  that  old 
Scotch  duffer  myself." 

"  See  here,  Tim,  you  mustn't  call  David  Henderson 
'  an  old  Scotch  duffer '  to  me.  He's  been  too  good  to 
me." 

"  All  right,  Dominie." 

So  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Jordan,  accepting  his  invitation. 
There  had  been  no  vacation  for  me  that  summer, 
partly  because  of  my  long  absence  abroad,  and  partly 
because  Greenton  was  full  of  summer  boarders.  Our 
church  was  well  attended  all  summer  long,  and  my 
work  was  delightful.  But  when  November  came,  a 
very  natural  reaction  set  in,  and  the  invitation  to  a 
brief  change  was  most  welcome. 

The  night  before  my  departure,  Elder  Harfis  and 
"Wendell  were  sitting  with  me  in  my  study.  A  car 
riage  stopped  before  the  house,  and  presently  Hender 
son  stood  unannounced  before  us.  Ere  a  word  of 
greeting  was  spoken,  he  said  : 

"  All  you  lack  of  your  boon  companions  is  the 
blasphemer,  I  doot.  Ye've  got  the  elder,  and  ye've 


190  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

got  the  infidel.  Are  ye  plannin'  a  sermon  or  discussin' 
a  doctrine  ?  " 

"  Neither,"  was  my  reply.  "  These  good  friends 
have  come  in  to  pass  an  hour  and  say  good-bye,  ere  I 
start  for  Duqueboro  in  the  morning."  "We  three  had 
risen  when  he  entered,  and  I  said,  "  Let's  be  seated, 
friends."  He  shook  his  head. 

"I  wad  be  kennin'  that  ye  were  goin'  to  Duque 
boro,"  he  said.  "  I  was  on  business  in  Saratoga  and 
I  had  a  leetle  leisure,  an'  I  came  to  drive  ye  to  the 
train.  An'  I've  a  fine  span  here,  but  there's  only 
seats  for  twa." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Henderson,  but  we're  not  going  to 
Duqueboro,"  said  Wendell.  "  This  will  do  us  for  a 
while.  And  if  you  had  four  seats,  I  wouldn't  ride 
with  you.  I'd  be  afraid  you'd  jump,  and  upset  the 
carriage,  as  you  did  my  canoe." 

"Hoot,  man.  Ye  jumped  yersel'.  I  didna."  Then 
there  was  a  great  laugh,  in  which  Henderson  joined, 
though  he  stuck  to  his  text  as  he  said,  "  Ye  did,  ye 
did,  man."  Then  abruptly,  "But  where's  the  blas 
phemer  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  mean  Mr.  Smith  ?  "  said  Elder  Harfis. 

"  Yes,  that  wild  Joe  man." 

"  Oh,  he's  not  a  blasphemer  nor  wild.  He  may 
have  been,  but  he  is  not  now.  He's  married  to  my 
niece,  I  might  almost  say  my  daughter,  and  he's  mis 
sion  superintendent  for  the  Presbyterian  church  in 
Grandview." 

"  An'  where's  Grandview  ?  In  the  mountains,  I 
doot." 

"  No,"  I  answered  now.  "  It  is  down  the  Hudson 
River.  It  is  an  old  city  with  a  great  church  and  a 
fine  mission  plant,  and  my  friend  is  doing  just  such 


work  there  as  he  did  here  in  ray  absence.  You  know- 
he  filled  my  pulpit." 

"  A  mission,  is  it  ?  "Weel,  God's  grace  is  great,  that 
He  forgives  the  blasphemer  and  puts  him  in  a  mission. 
Ye're  right,  man.  He's  no  blasphemer.  But  it's  a 
ne\v  idea  o'  God's  power  that's  comin'  to  me.  I  wadna 
hae  thought  He  could  hae  dune  it." 

"  Done  what  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Made  a  mission  manager  out  o'  that  wild  New 
Orleans  man.  Oh,  he  was  scandalous.  Talk  aboot 
God  makin'  a  fish  swallow  Jonah.  That  was  naethin' 
to  this  He's  dune.  Yes,  I'll  tak'  it  back  aboot  the 
blasphemer,  but  I'll  no  tak'  it  back  aboot  the  infidel. 
He's  no  fit  company  for  a  preacher  an'  an  elder." 

"  But  I  know  an  elder  that  fished  with  him  all  day," 
said  Tim;  "  was  he  fit  company  for  that  elder?" 

"  Man,  there  was  no  preacher  along.  I  said  fit 
company  for  a  preacher  and  an  elder." 

"  But  he's  no  infidel ;  he's  an  elder,  too,"  said  Mr. 
Harfis. 

"  Man,  ye  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  yon  unbeliever 
is  an  elder?" 

"Yes,  he's  an  elder  in  our  Greenton  church." 

"  An'  has  he  had  the  hands  o'  ordination  on  his  head, 
an'  he  not  believe  in  the  deil  ?  " 

"  See  here,  Mr.  Henderson."  Tim  was  speaking. 
"  I  have  learned  some  things  since  you  hooked  that 
trout  and  we  talked  by  the  bridge." 

"  Always  learnin'  an'  never  oomin'  to  the  knowledge 
o'  the  truth,  I  doot,"  said  Henderson. 

"  Well,  I've  got  hold  of  some  truth.  I  may  as  well 
be  honest.  I  thought  that  day  at  the  bridge  you  were 
one  of  those  religious  talking  men  that  most  people 
call  hypocrites.  But  when  Joe  busted  Bob's  bar,  and 


192  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

you  put  up  five  hundred  dollars,  and  then  stopped 
smoking,  breaking  what  was  probably  a  life-long  habit 
for  no  reason  but  to  show  Bob  how  will  and  consecra 
tion  could  defeat  appetite,  I  learned  what  God's  grace 
can  do.  I've  changed  my  mind  about  you.  Now  let's 
allow  belief  in  the  devil  to  rest.  I  believe  in  God  and 
I  believe  in  you,  and  I  believe  in  both  so  much  there's 
no  room  left  between  God  and  you  for  any  devil." 

"  Guid,  man,  guid,"  said  Henderson.  "  We'll  let  the 
deil  rest.  He  must  be  needin'  one  badly.  But  ye're 
wrang  aboot  me.  I  had  to  stop  smokin'.  How  could 
I  gie  up  five  hundred  dollars,  an'  afford  the  cigars  too  ? 
It  was  necessary,  I  doot."  Then  after  a  pause,  "  So 
the  unbeliever  has  become  an  elder  ?  An'  I  wad  be 
layin'  on  ma  hands  too."  We  had  been  standing  all 
this  time.  He  came  up  to  Tim  suddenly.  "  I  wad  pray ; 
kneel  doon,  man  ;  kneel  doon."  What  was  coming  no 
one  knew,  but  I  humored  his  strange  mood,  and  knelt, 
and  the  others  followed  the  example.  Then  Hender 
son  laid  his  hands  on  Tim's  head,  saying,  "  O  Lord, 
we  dedicate  the  infidel  to  Thee.  Thou  disna  care  that 
he  has  been  an  infidel.  It  hasna  hurt  Thee  at  all. 
An'  it  hasna  hurt  us,  because  we  never  agreed  wi'  him ; 
an' it  hasna  hurt  him,  because  he  had  too  good  sense  to 
believe  what  he  said  he  did.  An'  so  I  make  him  elder 
by  the  layin'  on  o'  hands,  an'  I  gie  him  the  right  han' 
o'  fellowship,  an'  welcome  him  to  take  part  wi'  us  in 
oor  service  and  meenistry.  Amen." 

Then  he  turned  to  me  and  said,  "  I'll  be  at  the  door 
at  seven.  Be  a'  ready.  Good  night."  And  without 
once  sitting  down  he  walked  out. 

******* 

When  morning  found  Henderson  and  me  in  Duque- 
boro  after  a  night  in  the  sleeper,  and  we  went  out  to 


I  VISIT  DUQUEBORO  193 

his  carriage  which  was  waiting,  a  sentence  from 
Harry's  letter  received  in  Rome  recurred  to  me.  It 
was  about  the  smoke.  No  mortal  ever  saw  such  a 
dingy,  dirty,  forlorn,  badly  lighted,  poorly  ventilated 
railroad  station  as  was  that  in  Duqueboro.  When  we 
emerged  from  its  disrnalness,  the  whole  gloom  came  to 
view.  It  was  London  fog,  black  and  impenetrable, 
but  without  the  sickly  yellow  tinge. 

"  And  is  this  Duqueboro  ?  "  I  managed  to  say. 

"  What  else  wad  it  be  ?  Did  you  ever  see  anything 
so  fine  ?  " 

"Well,  I  can't  say  whether  it  is  fine  or  coarse," 
was  my  answer.  "  I  can't  see  it.  Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  Man,  it's  here  all  aboot  ye.  The  smoke's  only  oor 
discipline.  It  keeps  risin'  and  risin'  until  the  midday. 
Every  day  it  does  so.  D'  ye  ken  what  the  Scripture 
says,  '  The  smoke  o'  their  torment  ascendeth  forever  '  ? 
This  is  the  smoke  o'  oor  torment." 

How  the  driver  engineered  the  carriage  through  the 
narrow,  crowded,  poorly  paved  streets  was  mystery  to 
me.  But  he  did  it,  and  we  passed  into  suburban 
districts  that  were  beautiful  in  spite  of  the  smoke-laden 
air. 

Henderson's  home  was  a  revelation  to  me.  Not 
only  was  the  house  complete  in  every  appointment, 
and  finished  within  and  without  with  rare  taste  and 
elegance,  but  the  family  that  dwelt  there  was  in  all 
respects  almost  ideal.  The  man  was  master,  and  his 
mastery  was  plain  at  once ;  but  it  was  the  mastery  of 
kindness,  affection,  capacity  and  self-control.  Mrs. 
Henderson  was  a  beautiful  woman,  apparently  entirely 
schooled  in  her  husband's  moods  and  tenses,  and  it 
might  almost  be  said  that  the  grammar  of  her  action 
was  a  right  interpretation  of  his  desires.  Her  initia- 


194  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

tive  was  inspired  by  him,  but  her  outworking  of  it  was 
entirely  on  lines  of  her  own. 

There  were  two  young  people  in  the  family.  The 
older  was  a  daughter,  Julia,  a  young  woman  of 
twenty-two  or  twenty-three,  not  beautiful,  but  possess 
ing  many  of  the  Scotch  characteristics  of  her  father. 
She  was  ver}T  hearty  in  her  manner,  and  in  conversa 
tion  the  play  of  her  face  was  a  charm.  The  other 
child  was  a  boy  of  thirteen,  David,  Jr.  He  won  my 
heart  at  once.  There  was  a  frank  openness  about  him 
that  was  refreshing.  He  said  what  was  in  his  mind 
regardless  of  life's  conventionalities,  and  the  friend 
ship  that  sprang  up  between  him  and  me  on  that  visit 
has  never  been  disturbed.  Before  the  first  breakfast 
was  over  I  felt  thoroughly  acquainted  in  that  family. 
As  the  meal  progressed,  David,  Jr.,  brought  confusion 
to  his  father  suddenly,  and  amusingly  to  me.  In  a 
lull  in  the  table  talk,  he  turned  abruptly  to  me. 

"  Say,  you  could  have  got  here  all  right  if  daddy 
hadn't  come  after  you,  couldn't  you  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course.  What  made  you  think  I 
couldn't?" 

"  Be  still,  David,"  said  the  mother.  "  What  will 
our  guest  think  of  you  ?  " 

"  That  does  not  disturb  me,  Mrs.  Henderson.  I  know 
boys  well.  I  haven't  forgotten  that  I  was  a  boy  once." 

"  But  I  didn't  think  you  couldn't,"  persisted  the  boy. 
"I  knew  any  man  that  had  been  to  Europe  could  get 
out  to  Duqueboro  alone.  But  daddy  said  you  was 
only  a  country  parson,  and  he  was  afraid " 

"  Hush,  David,"  said  Mrs.  Henderson. 

"  But,  mamma,  he  did  say  he  was  afraid  the  parson 
was  too  green  to  be  trusted  alone  so  far  from  home, 
when  you  said  — — " 


195 

"  Hoot,  laddie.  Ye'll  make  the  preacher  think 
ye've  no  manners.  An'  if  I  should  tell  him  I  didna 
say  any  sic  thing,  he  wadna  believe  ye  any  mair,  but 
wad  a' ways  ca'  ye  that  fibbin'  lad  o'  Duqueboro." 

"But,  daddy,  you  did  say  so.  An'  when  mamma 
said,  if  that  preacher  was  such  a  big  goose  he  could 
not  get  here  alone  she  did  not  want  to  see  him,  you 
said  you  were  afraid,  anyway.  An'  that  was  the 
reason  why  you  telegraphed  Mr.  Harris  in  Boston 
if  he  could  get  away  to  go  on  that  trip  to 
Europe." 

That  speech  would  have  abashed  the  ordinary  man, 
but  it  in  no  way  disturbed  the  Scotchman.  "  Ye've  a 
gey  memory,  laddie,  an'  ye're  like  your  mither.  Ye 
remember  some  things  that  ye  don't  remember  but 
imagine,  and  ye  don't  remember  some  things  that  ye 
do  remember  but  willna  confess,  an'  ye're  no  an 
illustration  that  '  oot  o'  the  mouth  o'  babes  has  been 
perfected  praise,'  for  it's  no  praise  to  ye  to  reveal 
the  secrets  o'  the  family  an'  to  bring  confusion  to  yer 
mither.  An'  ye'll  hold  quiet  now  while  the  preacher 
eats  his  breakfast,  I  doot." 

"  Oh,  let  the  boy  talk,"  I  said.  "  He  enlightens  me. 
He  makes  me  know  that  one  person  believes  me 
capable  of  looking  out  for  myself." 

"That's  what  I  do,"  said  the  boy,  and  then  went  at 
his  breakfast  with  a  will. 

"How  long  have  you  known  my  cousin,  Mr. 
Henderson  ?  " 

"  Your  cousin  ?  How  wad  I  know  your  cousin, 
man  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  how.  But  you  evidently  do.  David 
here  says  you  telegraphed  for  him  to  sail  with  me  on 
The  Westernland." 


196  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Mr.  Harris,  you  mean  ?  Is  Mr.  Harris  yer  cousin, 
then?" 

"  Yes." 

"  An'  how  wad  I  be  knowin'  that  ?  But  he's  gey 
fine,  that  Harris.  I  met  him  at  Interlaken  in  a  hotel 
filled  with  heathen.  He  was  the  only  Christian  there, 
an'  he  didna  know  what  releegion  was.  But  I  telt 
him.  We  traveled  thegither,  an  we  cam'  hame 
thegither.  We've  corresponded  ever  since." 

"Did  you  know  Joe  Smith  was  a  salesman  for  his 
firm?" 

"  No,  I  wadna  be  knowin'  that.  It's  not  so,  I 
doot." 

"  Yes,  it  is  so,  or  it  was  so  until  Joe  began  to 
preach." 

"That's  a  fine  thing  ye  did,  convertin'  that  wild 
blasphemer,"  he  said,  and  he  steered  the  conversation 
away  from  Mr.  Harris  and  the  breakers  on  which 
young  David  had  cast  him. 

At  family  prayers  he  brought  out  the  Bible  I  had 
first  seen  in  his  hand  in  the  train.  "  Do  you  mind 
the  buik  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  that's  an  old  friend,"  I  answered,  "  if  that  is 
the  book  you  had  in  the  train." 

"  Of  coorse.     What  ither  buik  wad  I  be  bringin'  ?  " 

"  Are  you  going  to  start  another  discussion  about 
religion  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Man,  man,  ye're  hopeless  !  Wad  I  be  discussin' 
wi'  ye,  and  puttin'  ye  to  shame,  an'  ye  a  guest  in  ma 
ain  hoose?  Na,  na.  I  brought  the  buik  to  mak' 
ye  mindfu'  o'  the  strange  way  in  which  God  leads  us 
a'."  And  then  he  read  the  One  Hundred  and  Third 
Psalm,  and  as  he  ended  said,  "  Now  let  us  a'  repeat 
the  Twenty-third  Psalm."  When  that  was  finished, 


I  VISIT  DUQUEBORO  197 

he  continued,  "  That's  it,  lad.  He  was  yer  Shepherd 
yon  day  in  the  train.  He  led  ye  to  the  seat  in  the  car 
by  me.  It  was  His  hand  that  opened  my  buik,  I  doot. 
An'  a'  the  rest  has  been  His  leadin'.  It  was  God's  good 
ness  and  mercy.  There's  no  chances  wi'  God.  Now 
ye'll  pray  and  then  David  must  gang  awa'  to 
school." 

That  night  after  dinner  Henderson  took  me  to  his 
own  office.  He  pushed  a  box  of  cigars  across  the 
table,  saying,  "  Ye  smoke  sometimes,  I  ken.  'Tis  a  bad 
habit,  a  vera  bad  habit.  I've  gi'en  it  up,  ye  ken. 
There's  no  Scripture  against  gie'n'  it  up.  The  Scrip 
ture  says,  '  the  smokin'  flax  shall  ye  na  quench,'  but 
it  doesna  say  the  smokin'  tobacco  ye  shall  na  quench  ; 
so  I've  gi'en  it  up.  But  yon  box  contains  some  vera 
good  aids  to  the  bad  habit.  Ye'll  tak'  one,  I  doot." 

Just  after  my  cigar  was  lighted,  the  butler  entered 
with  Harry  Sinclair's  card.  "  Bring  him  here,"  was 
Henderson's  order.  So  in  he  came.  More  than  three 
years  had  flown  since  we  had  looked  into  each  other's 
faces.  He  was  much  stouter  than  at  St.  David's.  His 
face  was  quite  ruddy,  his  head  fast  growing  bald. 
There  was  about  him  the  appearance  of  one  well  satis 
fied  with  good  living  and  with  himself.  His  tongue, 
however,  ran  just  as  had  been  its  wont.  While  he 
talked,  he  smoked.  His  first  cigar  was  done,  and 
another  lighted,  before  mine  was  half  finished.  After 
much  general  conversation,  he  suddenly  accosted  me 
on  a  more  personal  matter. 

"  Old  boy,"  he  exclaimed,  "  why  don't  you  get  mar 
ried  ?  You  look  as  if  you  wanted  care.  Oh,  no : 
don't  look  at  your  clothes;  they're  all  right.  But 
your  face  doesn't  sparkle  as  it  used  to ;  you  look  one 
sided,  half-done,  I  don't  know  what  all." 


198  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

Before  it  was  possible  for  me  to  answer,  Henderson 
took  up  the  theme. 

"Harry  Sinclair,  you  let  him  an'  his  marry  in' alone. 
All  he  is,  I've  made  him,  an'  some  o'  these  days,  when 
I  get  ready,  I'm  goin'  to  get  him  married.  He'll  tell 
ye  he  is  dead  in  love  wi'  a  lass  he  saw  at  your  wed- 
din'."  I  started  guiltily.  "  But  it's  na  so,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  He  never  saw  her  but  once  in  his  life,  an' 
that  was  three  years  syne.  But  you  let  him  alone.  I've 
other  plans  for  him.  Do  you  hear,  Harry  Sinclair  ? 
You  let  him  alone." 

"  Yes,  I'll  let  him  alone.  I  can't  do  anything  else. 
I've  no  chance.  Neither  have  you.  But  as  for  his 
falling  in  love  with  a  girl  at  my  wedding,  that's  all 
gammon.  There  was  only  one  girl  at  my  wedding 
that  would  have  attracted  him  at  all,  and  he  didn't 
look  at  her  twice,  nor  she  at  him.  When  Phyllis  found 
you  were  going  to  have  the  old  boy  for  your  guest,  she 
wrote  to  that  girl,  asking  her  here  to  visit,  and  told 
her  the  best  man  would  be  in  town  for  a  visit.  Phyl 
lis  wants  to  get  them  together  again.  But  the  girl  had 
other  engagements." 

Then  I  said  a  little  prayer  of  thanksgiving  for  my 
deliverance,  and  yet  I  did  wish  she  had  accepted. 

"I  tell  ye,  Harry,"  insisted  Henderson,  " you  and 
Phyllis  must  leave  that  marriage  business  alone,  or 
ye'll  keep  him  an  old  bachelor  a'  his  days.  Old  bach 
elors  are  nuisances.  There's  na  place  for  them  in  this 
world  or  the  next,  I  doot.  What  the  Scriptures  think 
aboot  old  bachelors  is  made  plain  i'  the  record  o'  the 
Flood.  God  drooned  every  one  o'  them.  Na  one  o' 
them  went  into  the  Ark." 

In  the  laugh  that  followed,  I  seized  my  opportunity 
to  speak. 


I  VISIT  DUQUEBORO  199 

"  You  talk  as  if  you  were  kings  or  emperors,  and  I 
was  your  subject,"  I  said,  "  and  you  could  marry  me 
when  you  pleased,  and  to  whom  you  pleased.  But 
you're  vastly  mistaken.  There's  only  one  woman  liv 
ing  whom  I  would  marry.  She  doesn't  care  for  me. 
She  never  thinks  of  me.  Mr.  Henderson  says  I  never 
saw  her  but  once.  It  makes  no  difference  to  either  of 
you  who  she  is,  and  I  won't  tell.  But  I've  seen  her 
six  different  times,  six  times  too  many — and  I'll  never 
see  her  again.  Now  let's  drop  the  marrying  business," 
I  begged. 

Harry  told  me  about  Phyllis ;  also  about  the  baby, 
a  boy,  named  Wayne  Sinclair.  He  was  enthusiastic, 
too,  about  his  parish.  To  see  his  intense  interest  was 
delightful.  All  at  once,  he  said,  "  I  tell  you  what,  *  the 
Church '  is  the  only  institution  in.  the  world  for  a  man 
to  work  in.  You  ought  to  be  in  '  the  Church,'  old 
boy." 

Before  I  could  answer,  Henderson  was  on  his  feet, 
towering  over  Harry. 

"  Hoot,  Harry  Sinclair,"  he  cried,  "  wi'  your  '  the 
Church  '  an'  your  institutions.  I  kent  ye  when  ye  was 
a  wee  bairn.  What  do  ye  ken  aboot  '  the  Church  '  ? 
Isna  he  in  '  the  Church,'  and  am  I  no  in  '  the  Church '  ? 
What  d'  ye  mean  by  '  ought  to  be  in  "  the  Church  "  '  ?  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Henderson,  you  know  history,"  an 
swered  Harry,  in  nowise  daunted.  "  You  know  Jesus 
founded  the  true  Church.  You  know  Paul  organized 
the  Church  of  Jesus  Christ  in  theTBritish  Isles.  You 
know  how  Rome  became  corrupt,  and  how  the  Pauline 
Church  of  England  was  kept  pure.  You  know  how 
all  the  sects  of  to-day  came  only  from  dissenters,  who 
were  too  carnal  and  worldly  to  submit  to  the  holy  rule 
of  the  mother  Church.  The  Presbyterians  arose  from 


200  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

some  wicked  English  '  Roundheads  '  who  murdered  the 
Lord's  Anointed,  and " 

But  he  got  no  further.  The  Scotch  Presbyterian, 
with  the  blood  of  the  Covenanters  in  his  veins,  burst 
out : 

"  Man !  Harry !  I  kent  ye  when  ye  were  a  wee 
bairn,  an'  ye  come  tellin'  me  the  old  lees  aboot  St. 
Paul  and  corruption  ?  Ye're  a  Papist.  Your  church 
is  a  Henry  the  Eighth  Papistical  church.  I  wonder  ye 
hav'na  six  wives  yerseP  !  '  Mither  Church ' !  Hoot ! 
'  Roundheads  ' !  Hoot,  hoot !  yer  church  is  a  rebellious 
child  o'  the  Scarlet  Woman.  An'  '  Roundheads ' ! 
John  Knox,  an'  John  Calvin,  an'  John  Huss! 
'  Roundheads,'  are  they  ?  Hoot !  I've  shame  o'  ye, 
Harry  :  for  I  kent  ye  when  ye  were  a  wee  bairn."  He 
stopped  for  breath. 

The  outburst  filled  me  with  fear  lest  Harry  should 
take  it  in  high  dudgeon.  Instead,  he  laughed  and 
laughed,  until,  holding  his  sides  and  with  tears  rolling 
down  his  cheeks,  he  rose  and  extended  his  hand  to  Mr. 
Henderson.  "  I'd  give  one  hundred  dollars,"  he  said, 
"  to  have  you  in  my  vestry.  If  you  only  belonged  to 
'the  Church,'  how  you  would  champion  her  cause. 
I've  not  been  so  delighted  since  I  came  to  Duqueboro. 
There's  not  a  man  out  at  '  The  Redeemer '  who  can 
stand  for  his  religion  like  that.  You're  a  wonderful 
man,  Mr.  Henderson,"  he  finished  ;  "  'tisn't  strange  my 
father  and  you  were  friends." 

Henderson  looked  hard  at  him  a  moment.  "  Lad, 
lad,"  he  said  sorrowfully,  "  were  ye  playin'  wi'  the  old 
man  ?  Did  ye  speir  that  nonsense  as  an  experiment  ? 
Was  ye  tryin'  to  get  me  started  on  a  discussion  ?  " 

Sinclair  laughed  again,  long  and  heartily. 
Henderson  kept  on.  "  Your  father  and  I  were 


I  VISIT  DUQUEBORO  201 

friends.  Ye  say  'it  wasna  strange.'  I  say  it  too. 
I  saved  him  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  a  law 
suit.  He  was  an  Episcopalian,  an'  yet  I  did  that  for 
him.  The  man  who  tried  to  cheat  him  out  o'  his 
property  was  an  Episcopalian  too,  an'  he'd  ha'  dune 
it  but  for  me.  But  I've  never  had  to  save  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  for  a  Presbyterian  because  another 
Presbyterian  was  tryin'  to  cheat  him.  Presbyterians 
don't  cheat  each  other  if  they  can  help  it." 

By  this  time  Harry  and  I  had  become  so  boisterous 
in  our  mirth  that  Mrs.  Henderson  came  to  the  office 
door.  "What's  the  cause  of  the  merriment?  "she  asked. 
"  Is  the  new  guest  a  wit  ?  " 

"  No,  madam,"  I  replied,  "  Mr.  Henderson  is  the  wit. 
He  and  Mr.  Sinclair  have  been  having  a  little  discussion 
about  religion." 

"  Well,"  said  Harry,  "  it's  time  I  said  good-night.  I 
must  get  back  to  Phyllis  and  the  baby.  Good-night, 
Mrs.  Henderson ;  good-night,  old  chum ;  good-night, 
Sir  Knight  David  Henderson,  Defender  of  the  Faith 
once  delivered  to  the  saints — Presbyterian  saints,"  and 
away  he  went. 

With  Harry's  departure,  we  adjourned  from  the 
office  to  the  library,  where  David,  Jr.,  was  studying. 
Looking  up  from  his  book,  he  announced,  "There's  an 
after-season  football  game  to-morrow,  between  Duque- 
boro  and  Lanborne.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  but  you'll  be  in  school." 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  replied.  "  School's  over  for  the  day  at 
two  o'clock.  I  can  take  you  all  right.  We'll  have 
the  carriage  over.  But  perhaps  you'll  have  to 
help  me  with  my  Latin  after  we  come  home.  Will 
you  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course  I  will,"  was  my  answer,  for  I 


202  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

wanted  to  go,  and  I  liked  the  boy.  "  But  why  don't 
you  get  the  Latin  before  you  go  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  can't,  don't  you  know  ?  There  won't  be 
time  after  school,  before  the  game." 

"  Well,  David,  wouldn't  it  be  nice  if  you  had  it  every 
bit  before  you  went  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,  but " 

"  Well,  we'll  do  it.  We'll  do  it  now.  We'll  read 
the  translation  now,  and  we'll  talk  over  the  syntax  as 
we  drive  to  the  game." 

So  I  sat  down  with  David,  Jr.,  and  we  went  through 
all  the  "  Ca3sar"  he  was  likely  to  have  for  two  days.  It 
was  bedtime  when  that  was  done.  As  we  were  about 
to  say  good-night,  he  said  in  true  boy  fashion  : 

"  Say !  I  like  you  tip-top.  You  know  a  lot  of 
Latin.  How'd  you  learn  it  so's  not  to  forget  it?" 

"  AVhy,  that's  easy,"  I  returned.  "  I  keep  in  practice. 
Mr.  Wendell  and  I  often  spend  evenings  together 
reading  Latin.  Your  father  knows  Mr.  Wendell." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he's  the  man  that  tipped  my  father  out  of 
the  boat  when  he  caught  the  big  trout.  But  say  !  I 
like  you  a  lot  better  than  I  do  Felix.  He  can't  read 
Latin  like  you." 

"  Now,  David,  who's  Felix  ?  "  I  asked.  "  You  see  I 
don't  know  your  school  friends  by  name  as  you  do." 

"  '  School  friends  ?  '  What  you  giving  us  ?  "  He 
fairly  roared  with  delight.  "  There  isn't  a  boy  at 
school  named  Felix.  I  mean  Julia's  steady." 

"  What  ?  "  I  exclaimed.  "  What's  a  steady  ?  And 
what's  Julia's  steady's  other  name  ?  " 

"  Why,  Ardman,"  he  answered,  ignoring  my  first 
question.  "  Don't  you  know  Felix  Ardman  ?  He's 
Major  Ardman's  son.  Major  Ardman's  my  father's 
best  friend.  He  lives  up  at  the  top  of  this  avenue." 


I  VISIT  DUQUEBORO  203 

"  I'm  much  obliged,  David,"  I  said  ;  "  I've  got  hold 
of  all  that.  Now,  what's  a  steady  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you're  fresh,"  he  said.  "  You  know  a  lot  of 
Latin,  but  you're  fresh.  And  a  steady  ?  Why,  a 
steady's  a  fellow  that  comes  to  see  a  girl  every  night. 
He's  in  the  parlor  now  with  Julia.  They're  going 
to  be  married  next  spring,  after  Easter." 

With  that  David,  Jr.,  started  for  bed,  and  I  followed. 
My  host  went  with  me  to  my  room. 

"  Ye  must  be  unco  weary,"  he  said.  "  Between  my 
boy  an'  Sinclair  we  have  kept  ye  up  too  late.  Harry 
smoked  too  long  an'  talked  too  much  nonsense.  He's 
livin'  too  high,  I  doot.  Did  ye  see  his  face  ?  Port 
in  the  one  cheek,  sherry  in  the  other.  They're  a  pair 
o'  killers,"  he  went  on,  as  he  stood  in  the  doorway. 
"  A  little  Scotch  whiskey  once  in  a  while,  juist  a  wee 
drap,  ye  ken,  is  good  for  the  complexion.  But  don't  ye 
listen  to  his  blandishments  about  lasses.  I'll  take  care 
o'  ye.  There's  lots  o'  lasses  ye  never  saw.  I  ken  one 
— oh,  I  ken  one.  When  ye  see  her " 

"  Yes,  when  I  see  her,"  I  laughed.  "  I  begin  to 
think  you  are  like  a  boy  I  used  to  play  with,  who  was 
always  going  to  have  a  new  kite,  or  a  new  sled,  or  a 
new  fish-pole.  He  could  tell  just  how  they  looked, 
and  what  they  cost,  and  he  was  going  to  have  them 
when  his  father  came  home  from  Troy,  or  when 
his  father  had  sold  his  pigs.  But  he  never  had 
them." 

"  Hoot,  lad  !  d'  ye  think  I'm  like  yon  lad  ? "  he 
remonstrated.  "  Do  I  luik  like  a  man  that  luiks  like 
a  lad  ?  D'  ye  ever  hear  me  talk  with  nothin'  to  talk 
aboot,  like  a  lad  ?  Maybe  ye  think  there's  nae  sic  a 
lass  ?  Is  that  it  ?  Losh,  man  !  d'  ye  think  old  David's 
maybe  leein'  a  little  ?  " 


204  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  No,  I  don't  quite  think  that,"  I  replied  ;  "  I  think 
there  are  plenty  of  girls  that " 

"  No  sic  a  thing,  man,"  he  interrupted.  "  There's 
only  one.  She's  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  ever 
saw,  an'  ye  ken  I've  seen  a  guid  many  women  in  ma 
day." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  ?  '  Most  beautiful '  is  a 
pretty  strong  expression.  Isn't  there  a  little  Scotch 
exaggeration " 

"  Exaggeration  ?  "  he  burst  out.  "  Exaggeration  ! 
Me,  the  most  releegious  man  in  a'  Duqueboro  ?  Ex 
aggeration  ?  Me,  the  best  elder  in  Kir  Jear  Presby 
terian  Kirk  ?  Exaggeration  ?  Losh,  man  !  I  never 
exaggerate.  Do  I  luik  like  a  man  that  exaggerates  ? 
Why,  exaggeration  is  leein',  man,  an'  no  Scotchman 
lees  when  he  doesna  want  to." 

I  managed  to  say  through  my  laughter,  "  Well, 
don't  let  a  little  thing  like  that  cut  you  up  so.  That 
was  only  a  bit  of  fun,  you  know." 

"Fun?"  indignantly.  " Is  it  that  ye  ca'  it ?  To 
say  '  Scotch  exaggeration '  to  an  elder  is  fun,  is  it  ? 
Oh,  man,  ye're  ma  guest,  or  I'd  argue  wi'  ye.  But 
honest,  noo,"  and  there  was  a  rich  twinkle  in  his  eye, 
"  there's  none  like  her.  My  own  lass  is  fine,  but  I 
never  thought  o'  her  for  ye.  But  this  one  !  oh,  man, 
this  one  !  ye'll  say  so  yersel'.  An'  ye'll  no  tell  me, 
after  ye  see  her,  anything  aboot  '  Scotch  exaggera 
tion.'  Good-night,  now — good-night,"  with  a  hearty 
grip  of  my  hand.  "Don't  mind  the  butler  in  the 
mornin'.  Don't  shoot  him  for  a  burglar."  And  away 
he  went. 


XVII 

I  LEARN  MORE  ABOUT  LEWIS  JORDAN 

ON   Saturday   morning   my  host  said,  "Man, 
ye'll  be  preparin'  the  sermon  the  day,  an'  I'll 
be  gaein'  to  the  city.     Ye'll  have  no  disturb 
ance.     If  the  lad  comes  haverin'  round,  pack  him  off. 
I'm  awa'  noo." 

An  hour  after,  I  started  for  a  stroll,  and  passed  Julia 
Henderson  on  the  porch.  She  stopped  me  by  say 
ing: 

"  Do  you  know  where  Grandview  is  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied. 

" Is  it  on  your  route  homeward? " 

"  "Well,  almost.  I  pass  it.  It  is  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  Hudson,  you  know." 

"  Would  it  trouble  you  very  much  to  be  my  escort 
there  when  you  go  home  ?  " 

"  Nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure,"  was  my 
answer. 

She  had  letters  in  her  hands,  and  the  thought  came 
to  me  that  something  in  those  letters  had  prompted 
her  question.  The  coincidence  of  her  visiting  Grand- 
view,  and  of  Joe's  being  in  the  same  city  struck  me 
oddly,  but  I  passed  it  off  as  one  of  those  constantly 
occurring  accidental  things,  and  went  for  my  stroll. 

That  night  at  dinner  Julia  said,  "  Daddy,  may  I  go 
to  Grandview  ?  Our  guest  says  he  will  be  my  escort." 

"  For  why  wad  ye  be  goin'  to  Grandview  ?  "  was  the 
answer. 

205 


206  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  Alice  this  morning,  and  she 
wants  me  to  visit  her  before  I  am  married." 

"  Alice  ?  "  I  said.  "  Pardon  me,  Miss  Henderson, 
but  may  I  ask  what  Alice  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes :  why  not  ?  Alice  Alcorn,  my  school 
friend  at  Dow's  Crossing." 

"  Lass,  ye  canna  go,  I  doot.  The  preacher  canna  be 
bothered  wi'  sic  baggage  as  a  girl  like  you." 

"  Oh,  I'll  be  glad  to  have  her  for  company,  Mr. 
Henderson,"  I  said. 

So  it  was  arranged  that  I  should  remain  longer  than 
I  had  intended,  so  that  Julia  might  prepare  for  her 
journey.  On  Monday  I  wrote  to  Joe  that  I  would 
spend  the  next  Sunday  in  Grandview.  By  return 
mail  came  a  letter  from  him,  asking  me  to  be  his  guest 
while  there.  He  did  not  happen  to  be  acquainted  with 
Miss  Alcorn,  but  that  need  make  no  difference.  He 
would  be  delighted  to  see  me.  And  if  he  did  not 
know  Miss  Alcorn,  he  did  know  a  girl  who  was  a 
teacher  in  his  mission,  who  was  the  loveliest  girl  he 
had  ever  seen,  and  Helen  said  she  was  just  the  girl  for 
a  wife  for  me. 

I  showed  the  letter  to  Henderson,  who  growled 
out,  "  I  want  that  Joe  Smith  and  his  Helen  to  let  ye 
alone  wi'  their  loveliest  girls.  Ye're  goin'  to  marry 
the  girl  I  telt  ye  aboot.  An'  as  for  stayin'  at  Joe 
Smith's  an'  sleepin'  in  a  missionary's  bed,  ye're  goin' 
to  do  nae  sic  thing.  Ye'll  stay  at  the  Balustrade. 
I've  engaged  yer  rooms  a'ready,  an' " 

"But,  Mr.  Henderson,  what  do  you  know  about 
the  Balustrade  ?  You  did  not  know  where  Grand- 
view  was  a  week  ago,  and  you  asked  if  it  was  not  in 
the  mountains." 

"  Man,  I  did  not  ask  if  it  was  not  in  the  mountains. 


I  LEARN  MOKE  ABOUT  LEWIS  JORDAN  207 

I  said  it  is  in  the  mountains,  I  doot.  That  is  no 
askin'  a  question.  An'  besides,  I  saw  a  man,  the  day, 
who  knows  all  aboot  Grandview.  The  Balustrade's 
the  best  place  in  Grandview."  So  answer  went  back 
to  Joe,  telling  him  of  Henderson's  action,  but  assuring 
him  I  would  spend  all  the  time  with  him  that  was 
possible. 

Sunday  was  a  delightful  day  and  the  Kir  Jear 
Church  was  well  filled.  Mr.  Lewis  Jordan  had  not 
called  upon  me,  which  I  thought  strange.  At  the 
church  door  Mr.  Henderson  introduced  me  to  several 
men,  and  of  them  Mr.  Jordan  was  one.  His  face 
seemed  familiar,  but  I  could  not  recall  what  made  it 
so.  I  was  well  into  my  discourse  when  my  eyes  met 
those  of  Lewis  Jordan,  with  a  look  that  brought  the 
man  before  me  exactly  as  I  had  seen  him  about  six 
weeks  before  in  Greenton  Church.  That  look  almost 
cost  me  the  rest  of  my  sermon.  I  realized  that  I  was 
trapped.  That  committee  that  was  out  every  Sabbath 
hunting  for  a  pastor  had  been  in  my  own  church,  and 
had  followed  up  the  visit  with  the  correspondence. 
There  was  no  use  in  being  angry.  I  had  been  out 
witted  by  Mr.  Lewis  Jordan,  that  was  all. 

There  was  silence  between  Henderson  and  me  as  we 
walked  homeward,  until  just  before  reaching  his 
house.  It  gave  me  abundant  time  to  grow  indignant 
at  the  trick  that  had  been  played  upon  me,  and  when 
my  host  began,  <k  Ye  was  flurried  the  day.  Ye  was 
rattled,  I  doot.  Did  ye  forget  what  ye  had  com 
mitted  to  memory,  man  ?  "  I  blazed  out,  "  I  commit 
nothing  to  memory.  I  speak  from  my  heart,  as  the 
hour  demands.  But  I  was  amazed,  Mr.  Henderson, 
that  anyone  calling  himself  a  Christian  should  be 
guilty  of  such  arts  as  Lewis  Jordan  played  me  with." 


208  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Lewis  Jordan  knows  nothin'  aboot  arts ;  he's  a 
lawyer." 

"  That  will  not  do,  Mr.  Henderson.  He  wrote  me 
I  would  not  be  considered  a  candidate ;  said  com 
mittees  were  away  hearing  candidates  every  Sabbath, 
and " 

"  Losh,  man  !  is  that  what  ye  ca'  arts?  That's  the 
verra  truth." 

"  That  will  not  do,  I  say  again.  Lewis  Jordan  and 
his  committee  were  in  my  church  six  weeks  ago. 
And " 

"  Man,  man !  it's  nae  '  arts '  to  go  to  church  on  the 
Sabbath  day.  That's  Scripture.  '  Forsake  not  the 
assemblin'  o'  yourselves  thegither,'  says  Scripture." 

"  Mr.  Henderson,  this  is  too  bad.  You  only  evade. 
Lewis  Jordan  and  his  committee  heard  me  preach, 
and  they  came  home  to  you  and  reported  they  had 
found  a  man,  and  the  church  said  bring  him  here  and 
let  us  hear  him.  He  deceived  me.  And  you  knew  it 
all  and  never  told  me." 

"An'  how  could  I  tell  ye?  The  voice  o'  the 
congregation  said  let  him  come,  an'  who  was  I  to 
oppose  ?  Doesna  the  Scripture  say,  '  the  voice  o'  the 
people  is  the  voice  o'  God '  ?  " 

"  No,  the  Scripture  does  not  say  that.  But  I  give 
you  up.  You  are  incorrigible." 

When  the  evening  service  ended,  to  my  surprise 
the  people  came  down  the  aisles  to  shake  hands  with 
the  preacher.  As  many  as  fifty  spoke  most  kindly 
and  thanked  me  for  the  messages  of  the  day.  Major 
Ardman  introduced  them  by  name,  and  gave  me  a 
most  delightful  feeling  of  having  one  good  strong 
friend.  Lewis  Jordan  did  not  appear.  The  Major 
and  Henderson  walked  with  me  down  to  the  Hender- 


I  LEARN  MORE  ABOUT  LEWIS  JORDAN  209 

son  home.  It  was  the  Scotchman  who  spoke.  "  It's 
a  peety,  lad,  you  don't  know  mair  doctrine  an'  less 
science.  It's  a  peety  ye  ha'ena  mair  releegion  an' 
less  activity.  Ye  were  nigh  bein'  a  pounder  the  night, 
forbye  bein'  expounder." 

"  David,  that's  too  bad.  That  was  a  fine  sermon 
to-night." 

"  Aye,  Geordie,  I  know.  But  doesna  the  Scripture 
say,  '  Woe  unto  ye  when  a'  men  speak  well  o'  ye '  ? 
An'  a'  were  speakin'  well  the  night.  I  wad  keep  the 
woe  awa'."  I  laughed.  I  could  not  help  it.  He 
was  droll.  But  I  answered,  "  Mr.  Henderson,  I'd 
like  mighty  well  to  know  just  all  you  mean  and  all 
you  don't  mean  by  your  badinage.  But  I'm  weary, 
too  weary  to  discuss.  The  strange  surroundings,  the 
big  church,  the  throng  of  people,  and  Jordan's  trick 
have  been  too  much  for  me." 

"  All  right,  man,"  he  answered,  "  ye  shall  go  to  bed 
directly." 

But  that  privilege  was  denied  me.  The  tramp  of 
feet  behind  made  me  aware  that  people  were  follow 
ing.  They  turned  in  at  Henderson's  gate,  after  us. 
There  were  seven  of  them,  Lewis  Jordan  being  one  of 
the  number.  They  followed  us  into  the  house.  That 
meant  that  I  must  be  kept  up  for  some  time  still,  and 
I  said  to  myself  if  the  occasion  comes  I  will  get  some 
satisfaction  out  of  Mr.  Lewis  Jordan  for  the  part  he 
has  had  in  this  business. 

He  himself  furnished  the  opportunity.  Taking  a 
seat  by  me,  after  a  few  minutes  of  general  conversa 
tion,  he  said,  "  I  suppose  you  are  aware  why  we  are 
here." 

"  Probably  to  juggle  with  me  some  more,"  I  said 
with  some  feeling. 


210  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

He  looked  surprised,  as  did  the  rest  of  the  company. 

"  I  do  not  quite  understand,"  he  said. 

"  You  should,"  I  replied.  "  When  I  caught  your 
eye  in  the  service  this  morning,  when  my  sermon 
came  to  an  abrupt  stop  for  a  brief  interval,  I  had  just 
recognized  you  as  a  man  who  had  been  in  my  church 
one  Sunday  six  weeks  ago,  and  you  saw  that  I  had 
recognized  you." 

"  Well,  yes,  I  confess.  I  was  in  your  church.  But 
is  going  to  your  church  juggling  with  you  ?  " 

"  Your  correspondence  contained  the  juggling.  You 
have  brought  me  here  because  the  congregation  wanted 
to  hear  me  before  they  acted  on  your  report.  You 
gave  me  to  understand  a  committee  would  be  out  to 
day  hunting  a  preacher.  No  committee  has  been  out 
to-day." 

"  Jordan,  he  has  you  caught,"  said  a  man. 

"  Yes,  caught,"  I  replied.  "  He  laid  the  trap, 
played  the  trick,  took  me  in,  deceived  me.  The  only 
satisfaction  I  have  is  in  being  able  to  tell  him  how 
completely  I  understand  the  game." 

"  Now,  my  dear  sir,"  Jordan  began,  "  you  mustn't 
be  too  hard  on  us.  Perhaps  I  did  not  do  right,  but 
our  pulpit  has  been  vacant  for  a  year,  and  the  com 
mittee  thought  it  had  found  the  man  we  wanted,  and 
we  were  sure  the  congregation  would  be  pleased  to 
hear  you.  But  about  telling  the  people  and  about 
their  asking  to  hear  you,  well,  allow  that  that's  so. 
We  told  the  people  you  weren't  coming  as  a  candidate, 
that  you'd  refused  to  be  a  candidate,  and  neither  you 
nor  they  were  prejudiced."  I  interrupted  him  before 
he  could  go  further. 

"Mr.  Jordan,  you  have  relieved  the  situation  in  a 
measure.  But  had  you  written  to  me  frankly, '  a  com- 


I  LEARN  MOKE  ABOUL  LEWIS  JORDAN  211 

mittee  from  our  church  has  heard  you  preach,  and  will 
report  to  the  congregation  in  favor  of  calling  you, 
and- 

"  That's  it,  that's  it,"  he  said  :  "  that's  just  it ;  and 
now,  if  we  will  make  out  a  call  for  you  as  our  pastor, 
will  you  accept  it  ?  That  is  what  we  are  here  to 
learn." 

In  that  moment  the  lawyer  thought  he  had  turned 
the  tables  on  me.  For  the  instant  I  was  nonplused. 
Then  I  began  to  think.  To  say  "  yes  "  would  be  to 
give  myself  utterly  away.  To  say  "  no  "  meant  the 
end  of  the  whole  episode,  and  for  that  I  was  not  ready. 
The  room  was  very  quiet.  All  at  once  a  voice  said, 
"  Silence  gives  consent."  That  brought  the  critical 
moment,  and  the  words  rushed  past  my  lips,  "  Oh,  no, 
no,  no,  no,  I  consent  to  nothing." 

"  Man,  Dominie ! "  that  of  course  was  Henderson. 
"D'  ye  mean  to  say  ye  willna  consent  to  consider 
a  ca'  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  say  I  will  consent  to  consider, 
and  I  do  not  mean  to  say  I  will  not,"  I  answered. 

Once  more  Mr.  Jordan  spoke.  "  My  dear  sir,"  he 
said,  "  there  were  large  congregations  in  church  this 
morning  and  to-night,  and  the  voice  is  well-nigh  unan 
imous.  '  That  man  is  the  preacher  that  we  want,'  they 
say.  Mr.  Henderson  went  about  saying  you  had  not 
religion  enough,  but  we  all  know  that  was  his  way  of 
hastening  people  to  decide.  So  once  more  I  ask  you 
the  frank  question  for  us  all  here,  will  you  accept  a 
call  if  we  make  one  ?  " 

Driven  to  bay,  I  answered  doggedly  and  with  a 
feeling  that  the  answer  would  end  the  whole  matter 
at  once  : 

"  Well,  make  it  and  find  out." 


212  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jordan, 
as  before. 

"  I  mean  what  the  words  mean.  It  isn't  fair  for 
you  to  ask  me,  a  stranger,  to  commit  myself  that  I 
will  or  will  not  accept  a  call,  when  you  commit  your 
selves  to  nothing.  You  promise  me  here  that  you'll 
make  me  a  call  to  become  pastor  of  this  church,  and 
I'll  promise  to  answer  before  I  go  home  whether  or 
not  I'll  accept." 

Jordan  replied,  as  I  expected  he  would,  "  Well,  but 
we  cannot  promise  what  the  congregation  will  do,  for 
we  don't  know." 

"  Good  ! "  said  I.  "  I  cannot  promise  that  I  will 
accept  your  call  or  refuse  it,  for  I  don't  know.  I 
haven't  heard  from  myself  yet." 

The  little  company  evidently  considered  that  final. 
One  by  one  they  rose,  said  courteous  things  in  saying 
good-night,  and  departed.  When  the  last  one  had 
gone,  Henderson  looked  at  me  a  moment,  and  then 
burst  into  a  great  laugh.  "  Ye  floored  him,  I  doot, 
that  Jordan.  He  came  back  frae  Green  ton  and  said 
ye  were  easy  ;  said  he'd  get  ye  here  and  commit  ye 
wi'out  committin'  the  congregation ;  said  Greenton 
was  only  a  country  place  and  ye'd  run  to  come."  And 
he  laughed  again  a  hearty  laugh.  All  at  once  his 
mood  changed.  "  Come  wi'  me,"  he  said.  He  led  the 
way  to  his  own  office,  and,  giving  me  a  cigar,  said, 
"  Sit  doon,  lad,  smoke  that,  then  go  to  bed.  I  don't 
know  who's  the  bigger  idiot,  yourseP  or  Jordan." 

While  I  smoked,  thought  was  busy.  The  manipula 
tion  of  the  recent  events  in  my  life  was  the  work  of 
this  man,  who  grew  more  and  more  dear  to  me,  but 
whose  ways  were  like  those  of  "  The  Heathen  Chinee." 
Matters  took  form  in  my  mind  directly,  and  to  act  at 


I  LEARN  MORE  ABOUT  LEWIS  JORDAN  213 

once  seemed  \visest.  Henderson  was  writing.  "  May 
I  interrupt  you  ?"  I  said. 

He  laid  down  his  pen.  "  I  am  all  attention,  my 
friend.  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  difference,  Mr.  Henderson,  between 
indirection  and  deception  ?  " 

"  Ye  ask  me  as  a  theologian,  I  doot  ?  " 

"  No,  I  ask  for  myself  as  a  plain  common-sense  man, 
and  I  do  not  ask  you  as  a  lawyer,  but  as  the  same  sort 
of  a  man." 

"  An'  what  wad  be  makin'  ye  ask  such  a  ques 
tion  ?  " 

"  The  fact  that  I  have  suffered  from  indirection,  and 
the  belief  that  I  have  been  deceived." 

"  That's  what  I'll  be  tellin'  Jordan  when  my  time 
comes.  Jordan  put  his  foot  in  it,  ye  ken." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  Lewis  Jordan,"  I  said. 

"  Ye  wasna  ?  Was  ye  thinkin'  o'  Wendell  ?  Has 
he  ever  deceived  ye  ?  " 

"  Never.  He  is  as  direct  and  straight  and  true  as 
a  sunbeam.  I  was  thinking  of  you,  Mr.  Henderson." 

"Now  hear  him!  O'  me?  An'  ye  wad  be  sayin' 
that  I  was  indirect,  I  doot  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  was  my  thought." 

"  Me  indirect  ?  Do  I  luik  like  a  man  who  would  be 
indirect,  when  straight-ahead  directness  would  serve 
him  better  ?  " 

"  No,  but  that  never  seems  to  serve  you  better.  It 
was  all  well  enough  to  invite  me  to  be  your  guest.  It 
did  no  harm  to  say  you  were  in  Saratoga  on  business. 
The  business  was  to  come  after  me.  That  harmed  no 
one.  But  you  knew  all  about  this  Jordan  business. 
You  knew  the  committee  had  visited  Greenton. 
You  knew  your  whole  purpose  was  to  get  me  before 


214  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

your  congregation.  You  worked  by  indirectness  all 
through,  and  you.  deceived  me.  Did  you  not  ?  " 

"  Man,  it  depends  upon  the  point  o'  view.  I  didna 
know  what  Jordan  wrote  to  ye.  I  didna  know  what 
you  wrote  to  Jordan.  I  was  knowin'  that  ye  was 
sensitive  and  stubborn.  An'  I  know  Jordan  was  no 
angler.  So  I  told  him  aboot  the  bumblebee  and 
darning-needle,  but  I  think  he  must  hae  cast  wi'  worms 
for  bait." 

"  There  you  are  again,"  I  said.  "  Indirect  once 
more.  You  put  up  that  whole  job,  Mr.  Henderson." 

"  Put  up  the  job  ?  Wad  ye  ca'  me  a  carpenter  ? 
I  did  naethin'.  I  said,  '  Jordan,  I  won't  interfere  wi' 
your  work.  But  I  know  a  man  who  can  preach,  but  ye 
canna  get  him.  There'll  be  nae  use  goin'  to  hear  him. 
Ye  canna  get  him.'  When  he  asked  me  who  the  man 
was,  I  telt  him,  o'  course.  But  I  said,  'Don't  go 
there,  ye  canna  get  him.'  An'  he  surprised  me  when 
he  telt  me  ye  was  comin'." 

To  laugh  was  all  that  was  left  to  me.  He  had 
beaten  me  off  from  ground  of  my  own  choosing,  and 
that  too  by  the  same  indirection. 

"  Ye  laugh,  man  !     Ye  do  na  weel.     I'm  yer  friend." 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  are  ;  you've  proved  that.  But 
there's  one  consolation  :  Jordan  will  drop  me.  He'll 
tell  the  people  I'm  a  crank,  and  that  he's  changed  his 
mind." 

"  Maybe,  maybe,  but  I'll  tell  every  one  how  ye 
routed  Jordan  ;  an'  I'll  say  Jordan's  advice  to  drop  ye 
is  good,  for  it'll  save  us  a'  from  mortification,  because 
ye  resent  Jordan  so,  ye  wadna  accept  if  we  ca'd  ye. 
See  ?  " 

And  I  saw  that  the  Scotchman  was  hopeless,  and  I 
went  to  bed. 


XVIII 
RED  HEADLINES 

HARRY  SINCLAIR'S  invitation  to  spend 
Wednesday  with  him  was  most  welcome. 
Henderson  wanted  me  to  lead  the  midweek 
prayer-meeting,  but  to  face  the  congregation  seemed 
impossible  after  the  Jordan  episode.  Henderson  was 
in  his  house  office  when  I  returned  next  morning,  and 
sent  for  me.  He  was  direct  enough  now.  "People 
were  disappointed  no  to  see  ye  the  night.  I  telt  them 
that  ye  was  awa'  with  the  Henry  the  Eighth  Papist." 

"  What  people  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Not  to  see  me 
where  ?  " 

"  Oh,  hush,  man,  wi'  your  questions  !  Ye  ken  what 
people,  an'  where.  Our  church  people,  of  course,  an' 
at  prayer-meetin'.  The  place  was  packed." 

"  It'll  do  them  good  to  want  what  they  can't  get," 
was  my  reply.  I  was  feeling  a  little  independent,  as 
the  result  of  the  day  with  Harry. 

"  There's  a  letter  for  ye.  It's  from  Grandview,  from 
the  blasphemer,  I  doot."  It  was  Joe's  reply  to  my  let 
ter  saying  I  would  be  at  the  Balustrade,  and  ran  thus : 

"DEAK  OLD  BOY  : 

"  Go  to  the  Balustrade.     That's  all  right.     But 
we'll  have  you  at  the  house  for  a  meal  or  two. 

"  I  wrote  Elder  Harfis  you  would  be  here,  and  he 
telegraphed  that  he  would  come  down.  We'll  have  a 
grand  time.  I  suppose  you  will  want  to  go  to  some 
church  in  the  morning,  but  you  must  come  to  the  mis 
sion  in  the  afternoon  and  talk  to  my  flock.  Then  say, 
old  chap,  I'll  show  you  the  loveliest  girl  on  the  globe. 

215 


216  THE  MAID  OF  HOXOR 

You've  just  got  to  get  married.  Helen  says  the 
Greenton  people  are  talking  about  it.  They  want  a 
pastor's  wife.  Helen  says  our  girl  is  just  the  one  for 
you  and  for  Greenton.  She's  one  of  the  teachers  in 
the  mission.  She  don't  care  for  men.  Helen  never 
dares  to  talk  with  her  about  men  in  the  husband  way. 
She  tried  once,  but  our  girl  said,  '  Please  don't  talk 
about  men  to  me,  Mrs.  Smith.  It  will  spoil  our  friend 
ship.  There  is  too  much  else  to  talk  about  that  is 
worth  while.'  Helen  says  she's  in  love  with  some  one 
now,  but  I  don't  believe  it.  When  you  get  here,  go  in 
and  win  her. 

"  Well,  good-bye.     I'll  look  for  you  Saturday  night. 
"  Ever  in  the  Old  Bonds, 
"  JOE." 

That  letter  made  me  laugh  aloud,  and  the  noise 
roused  Henderson,  who  looked  up  from  his  desk  to  ask, 
"  What  are  ye  laughin'  at  ?  Is  your  letter  funny  ?  " 

I  tossed  it  over  to  him,  saying,  "  The  letter  is  not  as 
funny  as  you  men.  Each  of  you  is  going  to  marry  me 
to  a  girl  he  knows.  Sinclair  has  a  girl  to  whom  he 
means  to  have  me  married.  The  girl  about  whom  you 
talk  so  much  is  probably  a  creation  of  your  fancy. 
Now,  old  Joe  has  a  girl,  and  he  wants  to  marry  me  to 
her.  I  might  as  well  move  to  Utah." 

Henderson  had  read  the  letter  by  this  time.  With 
one  of  his  Scotch  sniffs,  he  said  : 

"  Joe  Smith  canna  palm  off  any  city  mission  girls  on 
ye.  When  I  get  ready,  I've  got  the  girl  for  ye." 

"  Keady,  Mr.  Henderson,"  I  broke  in,  "  ready  ?  I'm 
getting  old.  How  many  more  years  do  you  want  for 
getting  ready  ?  " 

"  Oh,  hoot,  man  !  Ye're  only  a  youngster,"  he  said. 
"Ye  don't  know  enough  to  get  married.  But  ye  shall 
have  that  girl,  an'  she  shall  have  you.  Did  ye  ever 


RED  HEADLINES  217 

know  a  Scotchman  to  make  up  his  mind  to  anything 
an'  miss  ?  Do  I  luik  like  a  man  that  misses  what  he's 
sure  he  has  in  his  hand  ?  " 

That  day  was  the  last  of  my  delightful  stay  in 
Duqueboro.  Julia  Henderson  was  ready  to  start  on 
the  morrow  for  her  visit  to  Miss  Alcorn.  The  evening 
was  the  most  memorable  of  the  whole  week.  The 
Presbyterian  Social  Union  met,  and  Henderson  had 
Harry  Sinclair  and  me  as  his  guests.  Henderson  was 
the  last  of  three  scheduled  speakers  after  a  very  fine 
banquet  had  been  enjoyed.  None  of  the  addresses 
were  of  particular  account,  but  as  Henderson,  whose 
subject  was  "  Our  Pastor,"  closed  he  said,  "  I  have  wi' 
me  as  guests,  the  night,  two  specimens  of  our  pastor. 
One  is  Dr.  Sinclair.  Ye  ken  him  weel,  as  both  boy 
among  ye  lang  syne,  and  man  now.  I'll  no  be  callin' 
on  him  for  a  speech.  But  ma  ither  guest  has  a  story 
to  tell  which  is  worth  while,  an'  I  think,  Mr.  Presi 
dent,  ye  wad  honor  yersel'  by  ca'in'  on  him." 

Of  course,  the  president  asked  me  to  speak.  There 
was  no  escape.  I  rose,  told  the  "  no  benediction  " 
story,  all  that  led  to  it,  including  Henderson's  cold 
bath,  all  that  followed,  and,  after  it,  thanked  them 
for  a  very  pleasant  evening.  As  the  company  was 
dispersing  several  gentlemen  spoke  with  me,  asking 
questions  about  the  revival.  Presently  Henderson 
approached.  "  It's  an  early  start  ye  must  make,  man. 
I  wad  be  bavin'  ye  to  bed.  Good-night,  gentlemen," 
and  he  hurried  me  away. 

The  Pullman  car  was  full.  Julia  and  I  were  hardly 
in  our  seats  when  Felix  Ardman  appeared.  It  did  not 
seem  that  the  girl  was  surprised  when  he  announced 


218  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

a  business  trip  would  take  him  one  hundred  miles  east. 
To  surrender  my  chair  to  him  was  the  work  of  a 
moment.  It  gave  me  the  opportunity  to  sit  in  the 
comfortable  compartment  for  smokers,  where  undis 
turbed  it  would  be  possible  to  think  over  the  past 
delightful  days. 

There  were  two  commercial  travelers  in  the  com 
partment,  and  no  other  passengers ;  but  they  were  in 
somewhat  noisy  and  hilarious  conversation.  Not  to 
overhear  them  was  impossible,  although  the  presence 
of  a  stranger  quieted  them  a  little.  They  were  dis 
cussing  the  morning  paper,  and  recollection  came  to 
me  that  a  copy  had  not  been  at  my  place  at  breakfast, 
as  on  every  preceding  morning. 

"  Yes,"  one  said  to  the  other,  "  old  Davie  made  it 
red-hot.  He  couldn't  boss  the  last  preacher  they  had, 
and  he  took  it  out  on  the  whole  profession  last  night." 

"  Pity  some  of  them  couldn't  have  been  there  to 
hear,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Oh,  there  were  two  there,"  resumed  the  first 
speaker.  "  Old  Davie  had  with  him  a  preacher  guest 
from  the  East  somewhere,  and  Dr.  Sinclair,  'of  The 
Redeemer,'  too." 

"  Yes,  I  read  so  much  in  the  Clarion.  But  they 
don't  count.  The  stranger  wouldn't  catch  on  at  all, 
and  Dr.  Sinclair's  another  sort.  It's  the  whole  stupid 
old  preacher  gang  that  should  have  been  there." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  about  the  stranger's  not  taking 
it,"  was  the  answer.  "  They  say  he's  quick-witted. 
Folks  around  town  are  talking  about  how  he  doubled 
up  Squire  Jordan  last  Sunday  night.  Anyway, 
Kir  Jear  Church  will  call  him  for  its  pastor,  and  old 
Davie  was  dosing  him  in  that  speech.  He  means  to 
run  him  when  he  comes  here  to  live." 


RED  HEADLINES  219 

"  How  do  you  know  so  much  ?  "  said  the  second  man. 

"  Oh,  Ardman  told  me.  You  know  Felix,  don't 
you  ?  " 

"  Yes.  But  say  !  Felix  has  struck  ten.  Did  you 
know  it?" 

"  Struck  ten  ?     How  ?  " 

"  Why,  he's  going  to  marry  old  Davie's  daughter. 
That's  money,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  expect  she's  the  handsomest  girl,  if  you 
measure  beauty  by  bank  account,  that  there  is  in 
Duqueboro." 

"  Yes,  that's  so.  Felix  '11  have  a  million  by  and 
by,  and  I'm  glad.  He's  pretty  good — a  little  stiff, 
but  he's  a  good  railroader." 

"  Did  you  hear  about  the  speech  the  eastern 
preacher  made  after  old  Davie  had  finished  ?  The 
paper  says  it  was  a  corker." 

I  did  not  wait  to  hear  the  answer,  but  started 
through  the  train  to  find  a  newsboy.  Having  secured 
a  copy  of  the  Duqueboro  Clarion,  and  returned  to 
the  compartment,  there  fell  upon  my  astonished  gaze 
a  description  of  the  events  of  the  last  night.  Display 
headlines,  printed  in  big  red  letters,  extending  across 
the  page  and  arranged  with  eye-catching  skill, 
announced 

THE  FAMOUS  "No  BENEDICTION"  DOMINIE  MAKES  A 
BID  FOR  OUR  EICHEST  CITY  PULPIT. 

MILLIONAIRE  DAVID  HENDERSON  INTRODUCES  HIM. 

HE  TELLS  A  THRILLING  STORY  OF 
How  HE  SAVES  SOULS. 

TELLS  How  OLD  DAVIE,  THE  CORPORATION  LAWYER, 
FELL  INTO  THE  GREENTON  RIVER. 

TELLS  How  AN  EX-BUMMER  BUSTED  A  TAVERN  BAR. 


220  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

Not  to  read  was  impossible.  Not  to  become  angry 
and  grow  red  in  the  face  was  equally  impossible. 
Fascination  and  exasperation  were  in  those  lines.  This 
was  my  first  experience  with  the  guild  reportorial. 
My  face,  of  course,  betrayed  me. 

"  Duqueboro  papers  do  it  up  brown,  don't  they  ?  " 
said  the  man  who  had  been  doing  most  of  the  talking. 

To  which  I  made  answer,  "  They  seem  to  do  it  up 
red.  I  know  now  how  skinned  eels  feel." 

"  Why,  how's  that  ?  "  asked  the  second  man.  "  You 
don't  look  skinned.  Your  face  is  that  red,  you  look 
more  like  a  lobster." 

At  that  we  all  laughed.  "  All  right,"  I  said. 
"  You're  a  commercial  man,  and  I  suppose  you  think 
you  belong  to  a  privileged  class,  and  until  you  say 
something  worse  than  you  have,  I'll  not  complain. 
But  I  tell  you,  boys,  I've  enough  to  make  any  man's 
face  red.  I'm  the  preacher  that  those  red  headlines 
roast  so." 

"  You  don't  say  ?  "  said  the  first  man.  He  rose  and 
put  out  his  hand.  "  Shake,  Dominie,  shake.  I'm  glad 
to  see  a  preacher  that  can  get  red  headlines  from  the 
Clarion.  There  isn't  one  in  a  hundred  of  'em  that  can." 

"Well,  I  don't  like  it,"  I  resumed.  "I'll  be 
ashamed  to  go  back  into  Duqueboro,  if  I'm.  ever  asked 
to  go  back.  What  do  you  suppose  those  church  folks 
will  think  ?  I  don't  want  their  pulpit,  and  I  didn't 
make  any  bid  for  it.  That  layout  there  is  outrageous." 

"  Oh,  no,  it  ain't,"  said  the  second  man.  "  That's 
just  high  newspaper  art.  No  one'll  remember  it  a 
week.  The  reporters  will  have  more  hot  stuff  to-mor 
row  or  next  day.  Everybody  will  forget  you.  Folks 
haven't  time  to  waste  remembering  all  the  papers  say, 
leastways  about  country  ministers." 


RED  HEADLINES  221 

"  You  don't  seem  to  have  a  high  opinion  of  country 
ministers,"  I  said. 

"  Well,  no ;  they  ain't  no  great  shakes,"  was  the 
response.  "  But  the  country  has  to  have  'em,  I 
suppose." 

"Where  do  you  think  the  city  ministers  come 
from  ?" 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right.  The  smart  country  ones  bid 
for  the  big  city  pulpits  when  they  get  a  chance,  just 
as  you  did." 

"  But  I  told  you  I  didn't  bid  for  that  pulpit,"  I  said 
in  great  heat. 

"  That's  the  way  they  all  talk,"  he  replied,  and 
added,  "  What  a  lot  of  liars  newspaper  reporters 
must  be." 

"  Well,  the  newspaper  man  who  wrote  those  head 
lines  was  a  liar.  And  the  off-hand  way  in  which  you 
class  me  in  with  the  pulpit-hunters  makes  me  think  of 
another  drummer  I  used  to  know." 

"  Who  was  he  ?  " 

"  Joe  Smith,  a  Boston  man." 

"  What !  Joe  Smith,  of  Murdoch,  Stiles  and 
Harris  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he's  the  man." 

Then  this  second  man  jumped  up,  thrusting  out  his 
hand.  "  Shake,  partner,"  he  said,  "  shake.  Proud 
to  know  anyone  that  knew  Joe.  Poor  old  chap,  he 
isn't  dead,  but  he's  buried." 

"  Not  much,"  I  answered.  "  He's  above  ground  all 
right,  and  he's  the  liveliest  man  I  know.  He's  preach 
ing  and  superintending  a  mission  in  Grandview,  New 
York.  And  if  you  ever  get  a  chance,  you  go  hear 
him  preach.  He'll  open  your  eyes.  Where  did  you 
know  him  ?  " 


222  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Oh,  on  the  road  and  in  Boston.  I  took  his  place 
in  Murdoch's  concern  when  Joe  quit." 

"  You  did  ?  Well,  I'm  going  to  see  Joe  to-morrow 
night." 

"  That  so  ?  You  tell  him  you  saw  Pete  Dunn,  and 
tell  him  I  say  he's  buried." 

"  All  right.  And  when  you  go  into  Boston,  you 
tell  Mr.  Harris  you  saw  me  on  the  road." 

"Do  you  know  Harris?" 

"  Yes.  He  is  my  cousin.  We  traveled  over  Europe 
and  the  Holy  Land  together." 

"  Great  Scott ! "  he  said.  "  What  a  little  world  this 
is."  And  with  that  the  conversation  ended,  and  I 
turned  to  the  paper.  What  a  fabrication  it  was.  I 
read  with  a  mingled  feeling  of  wrath  and  mirth  : 

"  The  Presbyterian  Social  Union  had  a  big  time  last 
night.  The  meeting  was  ostensibly  to  hear  three 
addresses,  after  the  regular  banquet  of  the  Union. 
The  real  purpose,  however,  was  to  hear  the  new  sensa 
tion  discovered  in  the  East  by  Mr.  David  Henderson, 
the  well-known  corporation  lawyer,  the  leading  elder 
in  the  Kir  Jear  Presbyterian  Church,  and  the  boss  of 
things  generally  in  Presbyterian  circles  in  this  city. 
Mr.  Henderson's  find  is  popularly  known  in  the  East 
as  the  '  No  Benediction '  preacher.  The  way  it  came 
about : 

"  Mr.  Henderson  happened  to  be  in  the  city  where 
this  '  no  benediction  '  preacher  resides,  on  the  Sunday 
when  he  sprung  his  great  sensation.  Since  then,  the 
preacher  has  been  traveling  about,  making  the  speech 
he  made  last  night.  Report  says  it  has  been  to  him 
the  source  of  an  income  not  to  be  laughed  at.  The 
Clarion  \vas  unable  to  verify  the  report  that  he  was 
paid  one  hundred  dollars  by  the  officers  of  the  Union, 


RED  HEADLINES  223 

His  story  of  old  Davie  up  to  bis  neck  in  the  water, 
lighting  with  a  trout,  was  as  dramatic  as  anything  to 
be  heard  in  tbe  histrionic  world.  Of  course  no  one 
believes  the  story.  No  one  ever  heard  of  catching  a 
trout  with  a  bumblebee  and  a  darning-needle.  That 
was  one  of  the  facts  that  belong  to  the  realm  of  the 
imagination.  But  preachers,  as  we  know  them,  are 
fond  of  telling  good  stories,  and  when  they  have 
heard  one  or  invented  one,  the  road  to  believing  it  to 
be  true,  and  to  telling  it  as  true,  is  not  long.  It  is 
the  business  of  preachers  to  believe  things. 

"  Guests  at  the  Union  enjoyed  it  all  immensely,  and 
only  a  few  knew  that  the  '  no  benediction  '  man's 
address  was  a  put-up  job.  Almost  all  thought  it 
impromptu.  Our  reporters  caught  the  preacher  as  he 
was  going  out  of  the  foyer  of  the  Duqueboro  Club, 
but  he  was  not  in  the  mood  to  be  interviewed.  Mr. 
Henderson  whipped  him  off,  for  fear,  probably,  that 
he  would  say  something  true  that  could  be  printed. 

"  Mr.  Henderson's  own  speech  was  not  slow.  He 
gave  all  the  preachers  a  good  round-up,  and  his  own 
guest  came  in  for  a  share.  Mr.  Henderson  never 
spoils  a  story  for  relation's  sake. 

"Altogether,  the  Presbyterians  had  a  night  they 
will  not  soon  forget.  The  two  real  speeches  were  not 
what  you  hear  on  the  vaudeville  stage,  but  they  were 
not  far  off.  The  other  two  speeches  were  of  no  im 
portance.  There  is  talk,  it  has  been  learned,  of  call 
ing  this  preacher  to  the  vacant  pulpit  of  the  Kir  Jear 
Church.  If  it  be  true,  and  he  accept  the  call,  Duque- 
boro  will  not  be  without  her  sensations." 

After  that  bit  of  reportorial  literature  had  been 
read  through  three  times,  it  was  cut,  headlines  and 
all,  from  the  paper,  and  consigned  to  my  letter-case. 


224:  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

We  were  almost  down  the  grade  on  the  eastern  side 
of  the  mountains.  It  was  time  to  return  to  Julia  and 
Felix.  To  break  in  upon  their  tete-a-tete  was  not 
pleasant,  but  there  was  no  alternative.  The  train  came 
to  a  halt  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains,  and  Felix  very 
reluctantly  said  good-bye. 


Miss  Julia  Henderson  and  her  escort  did  not  reach 
Grandview  until  seven  o'clock  on  Saturday  night.  It 
was  a  clear,  cold  December  night,  and  there  was  good 
sleighing,  though  it  was  yet  only  early  winter.  My 
spirits  were  high.  In  a  few  moments  my  last  duty  to 
my  friend's  daughter  would  have  been  performed, 
and  after  that  what  comfort  there  would  be  for  old 
Joe  and  me  at  the  Balustrade.  I  found  a  sleigh,  told 
the  driver  where  to  go,  and  we  were  away. 

The  driver  placed  Julia's  luggage  on  the  porch  and 
rang  the  bell.  I  helped  her  to  alight  and  walked  with 
her  to  the  door,  expecting  to  return  presently  to  be 
driven  to  the  Balustrade.  I  did  not  see  who  opened 
the  door,  having  turned  to  gather  up  the  light  luggage. 
But  I  knew  from  the  demonstrations  I  heard  that 
Julia  had  rushed  into  her  friend's  arms.  I  was  still 
busy  loading  myself  with  valises  and  magazines  and 
a  box  of  flowers,  when  a  voice  struck  my  ear  that  for 
a  second  stopped  the  beating  of  my  heart  and  sent  a 
thrill  through  every  fibre  of  my  being.  "What  was 
this  ?  Where  was  I  ?  Was  this  some  feverish  dream  ? 
Would  I  wake  presently  and  find  myself  in  Greenton, 
and  know  that  Duqueboro  was  only  a  figment  of  a 
weary  brain  ? 

"  Julia  dear,"  the  voice  said,  "  you  are  keeping  the 
gentleman  out  in  the  cold." 


RED  HEADLINES  225 

"Why,  so  I  am,"  she  cried.  "  How  stupid  of  me  !  " 
and  she  hastened  on  into  the  halhvay. 

Then  I  turned  like  a  soldier  at  the  word  of  com. 
mand.  There  stood  the  maid  of  honor. 

There  was  no  escape  for  me.  Henderson  had 
trapped  me.  We  faced  each  other  as  statues  do, 
motionless,  neither  giving  a  sign  for  a  full  minute. 
Neither  spoke.  Without  flinching  we  looked  each 
other  squarely  in  the  eyes.  Though  my  exterior  was 
calm,  my  soul  was  in  a  tumult.  Julia's  luggage  was 
in  my  hands  still,  held  awkwardly  enough  too.  What 
new  game  fate  was  about  to  play  with  me  was  not 
yet  revealed.  But  I  knew  where  I  was,  and  as  to  that 
girl  there  could  be  no  mistake.  Marble  is  not  whiter 
than  was  her  face.  Plainly  she  was  greatly  moved. 
Three  thoughts  went  chasing  each  other  through  my 
mind.  How  beautiful  she  is!  How  I  love  her!  How 
she  hates  me !  Suddenly  Julia  recollected  that  I  had 
not  been  introduced.  Turning  to  me  she  said,  "  You 
will  pardon  me,  I  doubt,  as  my  father  would  say." 
Then  addressing  her  friend,  "  Let  me  present  my  escort 
from  Duqueboro,  Mr.  Haynes."  At  that  the  maid  of 
honor,  her  manner  absolutely  unruffled,  said,  "I  won 
dered  that  you  did  not  present  your  escort.  Please 
come  in,  the  night  is  cold." 

Standing  as  rigid  as  will  and  anger  could  make  me, 
I  said,  "  Miss  Henderson,  this  is  not  Miss  Alcorn  ;  this 
is  Miss  Alice  Leaven  worth.  Why  have  you  deceived 
me  so  ?  "  And  then  to  that  peerless  other  girl,  "  I 
told  you  it  would  be  by  accident  if  we  ever  met  again, 
and  this  is  the  most  unseemly  accident  and  the  worst 
blunder  of  all." 

"We  will  let  accidents  and  blunders  go  for 
to-night,  Mr.  Haynes,"  Miss  Leavenwortb  said. 


226  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Come  in  :  we  are  keeping  the  door  open,  and  the  air 
is  frosty." 

"  Yes,  it  is  frosty,  very  frosty,"  I  said.  "  I  will  close 
the  door,  but  only  to  say  good-night  after  a  moment. 
May  I  have  brief  privilege  of  speech  ?  Had  I  known 
where  I  was  coming  to-night,  and  that  you  lived  in 
Grandview,  I  would  never  have  been  at  this  door. 
The  name  Alcorn  misled  me."  Again  to  Julia  Hender 
son  I  said,  "  Miss  Henderson,  I  repeat  my  question. 
"Why  have  you  deceived  me  so  ?  " 

"  But  she  is  Miss  Alcorn,"  said  Julia.  "  She  is 
Alice  Alcorn  Leavenworth,  and  my  father  said  we 
must  call  her  Miss  Alcorn  to  you,  and- he  would  not 
tell  me  why." 

"  But  I  know  why,"  I  answered.  "  I  know  bitterly 
why."  Then  addressing  myself  once  more  to  the 
maid  of  honor  I  said,  "  I  supposed  that  you  lived  in 
Newark.  That  belief  came  from  the  entry  in  the 
guest-book  in  the  Castle  of  Indolence.  You  will 
pardon  me,  I  am  sure,  for  being  here  unasked  and 
undesired.  My  sleigh  is  at  the  door,  and  I  will  keep 
my  Westernland  promise.  Good-night,  Miss  Leaven- 
worth.  Good-night,  Miss  Henderson,  and  good-bye." 

And  at  that  juncture  a  voice  sounded  through  the 
hall,  "What's  that  I  hear?  Good-night  without  giv 
ing  a  fellow  a  chance  to  shake  your  hand  and  to  say 
how  glad  we  are  to  return  in  some  measure  the  kind 
ness  you  showed  us  in  the  big  rain-storm  ?  No,  no, 
that  won't  do."  The  voice  was  that  of  the  brother 
who  had  been  with  Tim  and  me  on  the  way  in  to 
Indian  Lake,  and  also  my  fellow-passenger  on  The 
Westernland.  He  came  down  the  hall  and  took  my 
hand  in  a  way  that  left  no  doubt  of  his  cordiality. 

Then  his  sister  said,  "  Dick,  I  was  just  about  to  tell 


RED  HEADLINES  227 

Mr.  Ilaynes  that  mother  would  never  forgive  me  if 
I  allowed  him  to  go  away  without  accepting  our 
hospitality."  Turning  to  me  she  said,  "We  have 
waited  dinner  for  Julia  and  you."  Then  she  spoke 
once  more  to  her  brother,  "Here,  Dick,  take  charge 
of  Mr.  Ilaynes.  He  needs  refreshing  after  his  long 
journey.  Dinner  will  be  ready  when  you  come 
down.  Come,  Julia."  When  at  last  we  had  gathered 
for  dinner  the  maid  of  honor  presented  me  to  her 
mother  and  to  her  brother's  only  boy,  Willie.  "All 
that  we  are  you  see,"  she  said.  "  One  whom  you  saw 
on  the  Adirondack  drive  has  gone  home." 

I  shall  never  forget  the  way  in  which  the  mother 
bowed,  and  then  advancing  took  my  hand.  She  was 
a  lady  of  the  old  school,  and  made  me  feel  that  her 
home  was  mine  while  I  was  in  it.  A  glance  was 
sufficient  to  see  the  source  from  which  the  daughter 
derived  her  marvelous  beauty.  At  dinner  Julia 
made  one  or  two  attempts  to  explain  the  Alcorn 
game  that  she  and  her  father  had  played,  but  the 
maid  of  honor  was  alert,  and  with  rare  tact  kept 
Julia  from  entangling  herself  in  the  toils  of  falsehood. 
She  did  manage  to  express  great  surprise  that  Miss 
Leavenworth  and  I  had  met  on  any  other  occasion 
than  that  of  St.  David's,  but  she  had  not  the  skill  of 
her  father.  lie  could  dodge  absolute  falsehood  with 
wonderful  adroitness,  but  Julia  would  have  been 
wrecked  but  for  the  maid  of  honor.  As  soon  as 
dinner  was  over,  and  conventionality  would  allow,  I 
excused  myself. 

"  Shall  I  see  you  again  ? "  asked  Julia,  as  I  was 
making  my  adieus. 

"  No,  Miss  Henderson,"  I  answered.  "  I'm  going  to 
Mr.  Smith's  mission  in  the  afternoon,  and  shall  spend 


228  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

the  rest  of  the  day  with  him.  Early  Monday  morning 
I  start  for  Greenton.  You'll  not  miss  me." 

But  Mrs.  Leavenworth  had  another  little  attention 
to  bestow  on  her  chance  guest.  The  dear  old  lady 
did  not  in  the  least  know  that  every  moment  I  was 
spending  there  was  torture. 

"What?  You  are  not  coming  to  see  us  to-mor 
row?"  she  said.  "  You  are  a  stranger  in  Grandview. 
I  wish  you  would  come  in  to-morrow  night  and  see 
the  lovely  view  from  our  river-front  veranda.  The 
moon  will  be  full  to-morrow  night.  Come  and  let 
Richard  show  you  the  fine  outlook." 

So  I  accepted.  But  I  said  in  an  aside  to  Miss 
Leavenworth,  who  had  offered  me  her  hand,  "  I  have 
not  forgotten  and  I  will  not  forget  my  promise  on 
The  Westernland.  I  will  keep  that." 

"It  is  a  good  thing  to  keep  one's  promises,  as  a 
rule,  I  suppose,"  she  answered. 

As  I  went  out,  I  met  Bruce  Eraser  going  in.  The 
night  was  bright. 

"  You  here  ?  "  he  said.     "  How  did  you  get  here  ?  " 

"By  the  train  and  a  sleigh,"  I  answered.  His 
breath  was  strong  of  liquor. 


A 


XIX 

TOM 

S  I  registered  at  the  Balustrade  the  clerk  said, 
"  Mr.  Smith  called  for  you  an  hour  ago.  He 
left  a  letter."  It  ran  : 


"  I  waited  to  see  you  as  long  as  I  could,  but  I'll 
see  you  to-morrow.  Don't  fail  to  go  to  the  First 
Church  in  the  morning.  There's  a  new  pastor  there, 
and  he's  worth  hearing.  Be  sure  to  come  to  the  mis 
sion  in  the  afternoon,  and  go  home  with  us  to  dinner. 
I  will  show  you  the  best  mission  work  in  a  small  city 
you  ever  heard  of,  and  the  handsomest  woman  in 
America.  You  can't  afford  to  miss  either.  JOE." 

Of  course  I  knew  who  that  woman  was.  In  the 
quiet  of  my  room  I  pondered  the  varied  experiences 
of  the  past  most  eventful  week.  Henderson's  whole 
scheme  was  as  plain  as  daylight.  He  had  intended  to 
bring  me  face  to  face  with  the  girl  of  whom  he  had 
talked  so  mysteriously,  and  had  succeeded.  Moreover 
he  had  known  all  the  time  that  my  girl  and  his  were 
identical,  for  that  Julia  should  not  know  where  her 
friend  had  been  maid  of  honor,  and  who  had  been  best 
man,  was  unthinkable.  The  Duqueboro  visit  and  the 
preaching  had  been  only  by-play  for  his  real  game. 
He  had  overmatched  me  by  indirection  once  more,  and 
the  game  was  on.  There  were  surely  three  players  in 
it.  I  was  one ;  Bruce  Fraser  was  another ;  the  girl 
was  the  third.  Fraser  evidently  "  had  the  man  of  me," 
as  the  checker  players  say. 

229 


230  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

Joe  was  delightfully  ignorant  of  the  whole  plot  that 
Henderson  had  laid,  but  he  had  unwittingly  placed  me 
where  it  was  my  move,  and  the  spirit  of  play  and  the 
determination  to  win  took  form  for  the  first  time. 

Plainly  enough  the  girl  had  not  changed.  She  had 
been  polite  because  in  her  own  home,  but  she  had 
given  not  the  slightest  intimation  that  approach  toward 
her  would  be  tolerated.  Her  real  attitude  toward  me 
evidently  had  not  changed  since  St.  David's.  But 
could  I  allow  that  beer-drinking  Bruce  to  win  her 
without  an  effort  ?  No,  no,  no.  And  yet  what  to  do 
I  did  not  know. 

Sunday  dawned  crisp,  clear,  and  cold.  My  first 
thought  was  of  the  relief  that  one  day  free  from 
preaching  would  bring.  To  go  to  church  and  hear  a 
sermon  would  be  a  comfort.  To  sit  where  the  maid 
of  honor  could  be  seen,  and  have  no  one  to  say  me 
nay,  would  be  a  delight ;  then  a  second  thought  forced 
itself  into  consciousness  :  suppose  she  should  not  be  in 
church  to-day ;  or  suppose  she  attends  some  other 
church  ?  Finally,  "  Be  honest  with  }Tourself,"  said 
conscience.  "  You're  not  going  to  church  to  hear  a 
sermon  ;  you're  going  hoping  to  see  that  girl."  "  You 
hold  your  peace,"  I  answered  to  the  uncomfortable 
monitor.  "  What  do  you  know  about  my  reasons  for 
going  to  church  ?  "  Nevertheless,  I  asked  the  sexton, 
when  I  reached  the  First  Church,  if  the  Leavenworth 
family  attended  there,  and  not  until  he  made  an 
affirmative  answer  did  I  enter.  He  followed  me  with 
the  inquiry,  "  Shall  I  show  you  to  their  pew,  sir  ?  " 

"No,"  I  answered.  "But  will  you  tell  me  upon 
which  aisle  they  sit  ?  "  He  pointed  to  the  aisle,  and 
on  it,  by  the  door,  in  the  back  pew,  I  seated  myself. 
From  that  vantage  point  every  person  who  should 


TOM  231 

enter  could  be  plainly  seen.  But  it  was  of  no  avail. 
The  maid  of  honor  did  not  come;  only  "Brother 
Dick  "  and  the  boy  Willie,  who  spied  me  and  told  his 
father,  whereupon  the  latter  stepped  back  and  asked 
me  to  be  his  guest. 

"Thank  you,"  I  answered,  "but  I  fear  that  would 
crowd  you  uncomfortably.  You  have  one  guest 
already." 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  replied,  "  mother  and  the  girls  will  not 
be  here  to-day.  There  will  be  plenty  of  room."  So 
into  the  Leaven  worth  pew  I  went,  and  took  a  little 
consolation  in  thinking  I  was  sitting  probably  where 
she  often  sat. 

But  my  thoughts  were  presently  turned  into  another 
channel.  When  the  preacher  entered  his  pulpit,  to 
my  utter  amazement  he  was  the  preacher  of  the  Paoli 
monument  conversation,  the  Hev.  Chalfant  Fraser. 
To  turn  to  Mr.  Richard  and  ask  "  Is  this  your  pastor  ?  " 
was  the  work  of  an  instant,  and  as  he  assured  me  he 
was,  a  whole  troop  of  memories  went  flitting  across 
the  field  of  consciousness.  Just  then  Mr.  Fraser 
recognized  me,  and,  coming  down  from  his  pulpit, 
asked  me  to  a  seat  beside  him  and  to  make  the  "  long 
prayer." 

Why  Bruce  Fraser  was  in  Grandview  was  now 
evident  enough,  and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  he 
occupied  more  of  my  attention  than  did  his  father's 
sermon. 

"  Old  boy,  what  are  you  mooning  about  ? "  Joe 
had  been  piloting  Elder  Ilarfis  and  me  about  his  mis 
sion  building,  and  probably  had  expected  much  more 
enthusiasm  in  me  than  he  found.  My  answer  was 
wide  of  the  question.  "  Does  Bruce  Fraser  live  here  ?  " 


232  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Bruce  Eraser  ?  Tvrhat  in  creation  has  he  to  do 
with  my  mission  house  ?  " 

"  Well,  nothing,  I  hope.     But  does  he  live  here  ?  " 

"No,  he  don't.  He  lives  in  Newark.  He's  up  here 
every  week.  What  do  you  know  about  him  ?  " 

"  He  rode  into  the  Adirondacks  once  with  Wendell 
and  me,  and  there  came  up  an  awful  thunder-shower 
and  soaked  all  three  of  us  to  the  skin." 

"  Oh,  I  see.  I  suppose  you  heard  Dr.  Fraser  preach 
this  morning  ?  Do  you  want  to  see  Bruce  ?  " 

"  No,  not  particularly.  I  did  hear  Dr.  Fraser  this 
morning,  and  I  thought  perhaps  Bruce  was  his  son 
and  might  live  here." 

"  Yes,  he's  Dr.  Eraser's  son.  He's  in  town  to-day,  I 
think.  When  I  was  waiting  in  the  Balustrade  for  you 
last  night,  he  came  in  and  went  to  the  bar.  I  hear  he 
goes  there  too  often." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  his  home  ?  Does  his 
wife  live  here  or  in  Newark  ?  "  I  felt  guilty  when  I 
said  that.  I  was  playing  old  Joe,  and  he  a  fraternity 
brother. 

"  Wife  ?  He  hasn't  any  wife.  He's  after  one  here, 
I'm  afraid.  He's  hanging  around  that  girl  I've  been 
writing  to  you  about.  I  wish  he'd  keep  away.  He's 
a  bad  egg.  You  see,  I  know  the  game.  I've  played  it 
myself,  but  I  never  mixed  a  good  girl  into  it.  I've 
had  a  notion  to  tell  that  girl  what  he  is,  but  Helen 
says  I'd  better  keep  still." 

Just  at  that  moment  a  bell  sounded.  "That  is 
for  the  various  departments  to  assemble,"  said  Joe. 
"Come  on." 

He  led  the  way  to  what  was  evidently  the  main 
mission  room,  and  asked  me  to  a  seat  with  him  on  the 
platform.  There  were  gathered  seven  hundred  chil- 


TOM  233 

dren  and  youth  and  adults.  The  sight  was  fine,  and 
to  me  ne\v.  As  Joe  took  his  place,  every  one  rose. 
"Good-afternoon,  my  dear  people,  young  and  old,"  he 
said,  and  a  great  response  returned,  "  Good-afternoon, 
Mr.  Smith."  During  the  opening  exercises,  my  gaze 
was  roving  about  the  room,  but  the  girl  I  sought  was 
not  there.  When  the  lesson  period  came,  Joe  said : 

"  My  girl,  of  whom  I  have  written  and  bragged, 
isn't  here  to-day,  though  she  expected  to  be,  when  I 
saw  her  yesterday.  There  must  be  something  unusual 
the  matter.  But  will  you  take  her  class?" 

To  assent  was  only  the  part  of  brotherly  kindness, 
but  the  experience  of  the  hour  that  followed  was 
wholly  unique,  and  its  consequences  could  by  no  pos 
sibility  be  foreseen. 

There  were  six  boys  in  the  class.  Five  were  fairly 
well  dressed  and  better-looking  than  the  average  mis 
sion  school  boy  of  ten  or  eleven  years.  The  sixth  boy 
was  one  of  the  impossibles.  He  wras  fully  sixteen 
years  old.  He  was  large,  awkward,  overgrown,  poorly 
dressed.  His  hands  and  face  were  far  from  clean,  and 
his  hair  was  uncombed.  His  whole  appearance  was 
repugnant. 

Even  while  I  was  wondering  at  the  queer  make-up 
of  this  class,  one  of  the  boys  spoke. 

"  Say,  boss,  put  him  out,"  pointing  to  the  older  lad. 
"  He  don't  belong  here." 

"Where  does  he  belong?"  I  asked. 

"  We  don't  know,"  chorused  the  whole  five.  "  We 
ain't  never  seen  him  before." 

"Well,  where  shall  I  put  him,  boys?" 

"  Aw,  we  don't  care.     Put  him  out  o'  here." 

"  But,  boys,  I'm  a  stranger  here.  I  wouldn't  like  to 
make  a  rumpus  like  that." 


234  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Get  Mr.  Smith  ter  take  him  away,  then,"  they 
urged. 

All  this  time  the  big  boy  sat  perfectly  still,  appar 
ently  paying  no  heed  to  the  talk. 

"  Before  I  ask  Mr.  Smith  to  take  him  away,  let's 
find  out  who  he  is,"  I  suggested.  To  this  they  agreed, 
and  little  by  little  I  dug  out  the  following  informa 
tion,  while  the  five  boys  gradually  became  interested 
and  leaned  forward  to  listen. 

"  Name's  Tom.  No,  nuthin'  but  Tom — Tom's  name 
enough  fer  me. 

"  How  old  I  be  ?     I'm  eighteen  year  old. 

"My  father?  Ain't  got  no  father.  Hed  one 
once. 

"  Yes,  my  father's  dead.     Killed  in  th'  factory. 

"  Yes,  I  work  in  th'  factory. 

"  Got  six  sisters  an'  two  brothers. 

"  Yes,  two  o'  th'  gals  works  in  th'  factory. 

"  Hard  ter  git  along  ?    You  bet ! 

"  No,  never  bin  ter  school.  C'n  read  easy  words  a 
little.  Mother  larned  me. 

"  No,  never  bin  ter  Sunday-school. 

"  Dunno  why  I  come  in  here.  Was  tired ;  folks 
looked  nice ;  wanted  ter  set  down,  so  I  come  in. 

"Yes,  know  God  made  me.  Dunno  why.  Didn' 
do  me  no  good,  makin'  me.  Made  ever'body,  s'pose 
He  hed  ter  make  me. 

"  Know  Jesus  died  fer  me  ?  No  ;  wha'd  He  do  thet 
fer? 

"  Hain't  saved  me  none.  Hain't  saved  none  o'  us 
none. 

"  Whose  class  this  is  ?  Didn'  know  'twas  a  class. 
Was  tired  ;  come  in  here ;  sot  down." 

By  the  time  I  had  pumped  all  this  from  Tom  by 


TOM  235 

dint  of  patient  questioning,  the  lesson  time  was  gone. 
The  other  boys  had  watched  and  listened  with  all 
their  eyes  and  ears. 

"Boys,  shall  I  put  him  out?"  I  asked  of  them 
finally. 

"  Naw — don't  put  him  out.  Let  him  stay.  Let  the 
teacher  say  what  she'll  do,  next  Sunday,"  said  one 
boy.  "  She  likes  freaks,  an'  this  bloke's  a  big  one." 
Then  another  boy  reached  over  and  asked,  "  Say,  '11 
yer  come  next  Sunday  ?  " 

"  Dunno,"  was  the  answer. 

When  the  session  was  over,  I  asked  Joe  and  Mr. 
Harfis  to  excuse  me  for  an  hour.  Something  impelled 
me  to  learn  more  of  that  boy's  life.  Hurrying  out 
after  him,  I  slipped  my  arm  through  his,  and  asked 
him  to  take  me  home  with  him  to  see  his  mother.  He 
made  no  response.  No  attempt  to  draw  him  into  con 
versation  succeeded.  He  would  make  answer  only  in 
short  phrases.  His  speech  was  slow  ;  so  was  his  gait, 
though  the  December  afternoon  was  cold,  and  his 
clothes  were  thin  and  ragged.  His  shoes  were  coarse 
and  broken,  and  he  wore  no  stockings.  He  said  he 
owned  no  Bible.  He  owned  nothing  :  how  could  he? 
All  his  slender  earnings  went  to  help  keep  the  wolf 
from  his  mother's  door.  Even  his  hearing  seemed 
dull.  In  my  soul  the  question  would  keep  rising, 
"  Lord  Jesus,  is  this  one  of  those  for  whom  Thou  hast 
died  ?  Has  this  man  a  soul  ?  " 

A  mile  or  more  to  Tom's  home  was  traversed  at 
last.  Down  by  the  river,  in  a  squalid  place,  stood  the 
house,  or  rather  hovel.  In  such  a  locality,  in  the 
summer,  swine  would  lie  in  the  gutters  and  pools  of 
stagnant  water;  goats  would  browse  upon  the  weeds 
at  the  door;  geese  would  hiss  at  the  passers.  Now 


236  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

the  snow  was  defiled  of  all  purity.  Heaps  of  filth 
marked  the  course  of  the  highway,  and  rendered  the 
approaches  to  the  place  almost  intolerable. 

The  hut  consisted  of  a  single  story,  and  contained 
three  rooms.  One  was  kitchen,  store-room,  and  family 
living-room  combined,  serving  also  as  Tom's  bedroom 
at  night,  while  into  the  other  wretched  apartments 
were  crowded  the  mother  and  her  eight  children. 

My  talk  with  the  woman  gave  me  a  new  view  of 
life.  She  was  of  a  poor  type,  like  the  hovel  where  she 
lived.  Every  morning,  winter  and  summer,  the  boy 
and  his  two  sisters  were  up  and  away  by  six  o'clock, 
to  the  long  hours  and  heated,  unhealthy  air  of  the 
great  cotton-mill,  a  mile  away.  At  night,  they  would 
trudge  home  to  the  wretched  fare  which  their  scanty 
earnings  and  their  improvident  mother  could  procure. 
It  was  probable  that,  since  Tom  could  remember, 
he  had  never  known  what  it  was  not  to  be  hungry. 

The  house  was  in  great  need  of  repairs.  The  door- 
sill  had  rotted  away  ;  the  door  hung  by  the  top  hinge 
only  ;  the  chimney-top  was  broken,  and  the  chimney 
crumbling  down  ;  the  glass  was  broken  in  many  panes, 
and  the  holes  filled  with  bits  of  rag  and  scraps  of 
paper.  To  see  it  made  me  sick  at  heart.  Some  one 
was  being  paid  for  the  rent  of  that  place,  and  the  coin 
was  made  out  of  the  blood  and  brawn  of  that  poor 
boy. 

Not  until  I  had  persuaded  both  mother  and  boy  to 
promise  that  he  would  return  to  the  mission  school 
next  Sabbath,  did  I  turn  my  steps  toward  Joe  Smith's 
home.  The  clock  on  the  mantel  in  his  parlor  showed 
five-thirty,  and  there  were  some  expostulations  over 
my  conduct,  though,  when  the  tale  of  my  afternoon 
was  told,  they  all  forgave  me. 


TOM  237 

"I'll  look  out  for  that  boy  next  week,"  said  Joe, 
"and  put  him  where  ho  belongs." 

"  Joe,"  and  I  reached  half  across  the  table  in  my 
earnestness,  "don't  you  move  that  boy  until  I  say  you 
may.  I  don't  know  his  teacher,  but  if  she  has  such 
beauty  of  heart  and  soul  as  you  say  she  has  of  face, 
she'll  keep  that  poor  Tom,  and  she'll  make  something 
of  him.  lie's  my  find,  Joe,  and  I'm  going  to  know 
more  of  him,  by  and  by." 

"  Well,"  my  friend  exclaimed,  "  of  all  the  idiotic 
speeches !  You  don't  know  his  teacher,  and  you'll 
never  see  her,  probably,  unless  I  can  get  you  down 
here  again.  And  you're  going  home  on  the  first  train 
to-morrow.  Ilow  will  you  ever  know  more  about 
that  boy  ?  " 

"  Why,  through  you,  of  course,"  I  answered.  "  I've 
added  a  family  to  your  calling  list." 


XX 

JULIA  BECOMES  MY  CHAMPION 

JULIA  and  the  maid  of  honor  had  not  gone  out 
that  day.     Julia  was  too  weary  from  her  long 
journey,  and  courtesy  kept  her  hostess  at  home 
with  her  friend.     They  were  sitting  together  pretend 
ing  to  read,  when  Julia  said,  "  Alice,  who  was  that 
man  here  last  night  ?  " 

"  You  ought  to  know,"  was  the  reply.  "  You 
brought  him  here." 

"  Oh,  I  never  !     He  did  not  come  on  account  of  me." 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  he  came  with  you." 

"  Whom  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

"  Your  escort  from  home :  that  young  minister. 
You  know  well  enough." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  him.  Of  course  I  know  who  he 
is.  He's  daddy's  pet.  But  I'm  talking  about  that 
Fraser  man.  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  have  just  said  who  he  is — '  that  Eraser 
man.'  " 

"  Alice,  what  ails  you  ?  You're  perverse.  Are  you 
in  love  with  him  ?  " 

"  In  love  with  whom  ?  Your  escort  ?  If  I  were, 
I'd  never  tell  him  nor  you." 

"  Oh,  bother  the  escort.  Let  him  rest.  But  he  has 
some  sense.  He  left  Felix  and  me  together  in  the 
parlor  car,  and  gave  Felix  his  seat  because  there  was 
no  other.  But  the  Fraser  man — are  you  going  to 
marry  the  Fraser  man  ?  " 

233 


JULIA  BECOMES  MY  CHAMPION         239 

"  How  do  I  know  ?     He  has  never  asked  me." 

"Does  he  come  here  every  week?" 

"  Yes,  when  he  does  not  go  somewhere  else." 

"How  long  have  you  known  him?  He's  a  hand 
some  fellow.  He's  taller  than  Felix.  But  I  didn't 
like  him  last  night." 

"  Why  didn't  you  like  him  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  like  his  airs.  He  had  a  sort  of  swagger, 
as  if  he  was  thinking  'I'd  have  people  understand 
that  I  am  at  home  in  this  house.' ': 

"  Well,  why  shouldn't  he  ?  We  all  make  him  very 
much  at  home.  He's  brother  Dick's  manager  in 
Newark." 

"  Have  you  known  him  long  ?  " 

"What  a  lot  of  questions  you  ask.  You  give  me 
no  chance  to  answer.  I've  known  him  four  or  five 
years." 

"  Did  you  know  him  when  we  were  at  Dow's 
Crossing?" 

"  Yes."  There  was  a  pause  for  a  few  minutes. 
Each  girl  studied  her  book,  but  each  was  preparing 
to  renew  the  skirmish  over  the  men  of  the  night 
before.  Julia  led  off  once  more.  "  Where  does  he 
live  ?  " 

"  In  Greentou." 

"  What !  do  they  both  live  in  Greenton  ?  " 

"  Both  who  ?     What's  the  matter  with  you,  Julia  ?  " 

"  There's  nothing  the  matter  with  me,  but  I  believe 
there  is  with  you.  I  believe  you're  in  love  with  that 
Greenton  preacher.  You  seem  to  think  I'm  asking 
about  him  all  the  time.  I  tell  you,  Alice,  I'm  not 
talking  about  the  preacher.  I'm  talking  about  the 
Fraser  man.  Where  does  he  live  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  lives  here,  or  in  Newark.     His  father  is 


240  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

pastor  of  our  church,  and  Bruce  comes  up  every  Satur 
day  night  from  Newark.  Before  Dick's  wife  died 
they  lived  in  Newark,  and  Bruce  was  a  clerk  in  his 
store.  When  Dick  and  I  went  abroad,  he  left  Bruce 
in  charge  of  the  Newark  store.  And  now  Dick  has 
moved  up  here  and  made  Bruce  manager." 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  him." 

"  And  I  do.  He's  good  times.  You'll  see.  He 
knows  how  to  laugh.  That  Greenton  preacher  doesn't 
look  as  though  he  could  laugh." 

"  Oh,  he  can  laugh,  Alice.  He's  a  splendid  story 
teller.  Daddy  thinks  there's  no  one  quite  like  him. 
They're  going  to  call  him  to  our  Duqueboro  Church, 
daddy  says." 

"  Julia  Henderson,  do  you  know  that  you  and  your 
father  are  responsible  for  all  that  awkwardness  at  the 
door  last  night  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  why  it  had  to  be  awkward.  You 
knew  who  was  coming  with  me.  Phyllis  wrote  ask 
ing  you  for  a  visit  while  the  best  man  was  at  our 
house.  You  ought  to  have  come.  Then  it  wouldn't 
have  been  awkward." 

"  Julia,  I  hate  that  man.  He's  a  terror.  How  he 
blazed  out  last  night,  about  meeting  by  accident.  He 
needn't  have  told  you  all  the  misery  of  my  acquaint 
ance  with  him  in  that  way." 

"  Misery  ?  Where's  the  misery  in  knowing  so  nice 
a  man  ?  If  I'd  known  him  before  I  knew  Felix " 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  had,  and  had  kept  him  out  of  my 
way." 

"  Why,  Alice,  what's  he  done  ?  Keep  him  out  of 
your  way  ?  When  has  he  been  in  your  way  ?  " 

"  Every  time  I  have  seen  him  he  has  been  in  my 
way." 


JULIA  BECOMES  MY  CHAMPION 

"  Have  you  seen  him  so  often  ?  " 

"  I've  seen  him  too  often.  You  knew  at  the  time 
all  about  St.  David's." 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  knew  about  that.  Where  else 
has  he  been  in  your  way  ?  " 

"  Oh,  in  that  drive  into  the  Adirondacks.  I  wrote 
to  you  about  that.  And  that  night  on  The  Western- 
land," 

"  Well,  I  recollect  what  you  wrote  about  that 
Adirondack  experience.  I  thought  he  did  you  a 
great  service.  I  wouldn't  say  a  man  was  in  the  way 
who  wrapped  me  up  in  his  storm  blanket  and  coat 
and  kept  me  dry.  lie  was  splendid  then." 

"  He  did  not  wrap  me  up.     That  was  Mr.  Wendell." 

"Well,  how  about  The  Wester nland,  Alice?" 

"  Why,  he  was  a  passenger,  and  we  met  of  course. 
The  night  before  we  landed,  he  came  stumbling  along 
in  the  dark  and  nearly  fell  over  my  steamer  chair.  I 
thought  he  had  come  seeking  to  see  me.  and  I  blazed 
out  at  him,  and  he  blazed  back  again.  That  was  all." 

"  Is  that  all,  Alice  ?  " 

"  Isn't  that  enough  ?  I'm  tired  of  him,  and  I  wish 
you  had  seen  him  before  you  saw  Felix." 

"How  about  that  time  you  were  with  Felix,  and 
saw  him,  Alice?" 

"  What  time  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  Haven't  I 
told  you  times  enough  to  show  you  how  he  gets  in 
my  way  ?  " 

"  That  won't  do,  Alice.  I  mean  the  time  before 
Schaus'  window,  when  you  said  a  horrid  thing  and 
he  ran  into  the  street  ?  " 

"  How  did  you  know  about  that  ?  " 

"  Felix  told  me.     How  else  would  I  know  ?  " 

"  Felix   might  have  been  in  better  business  than 


242  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

telling  you  about  that.  I  was  horrid,  and  afraid  he'd 
be  killed." 

Then  Julia  Henderson  laughed.  She  went  over  to 
her  friend  and  put  her  arm  around  her,  saying,  "  You 
transparent  little  goose.  '  He's  a  terror,'  and  '  I  hate 
that  man.'  Alice  Leaven  worth,  you  love  that  preacher, 
you  know  you  do." 

"  Must  I  fall  in  love  with  the  first  handsome  stranger, 
just  because  you  lost  your  heart  to  Felix  at  first  sight  ? 
I  tell  you  I'm  not  falling  in  love  with  men  that  turn 
the  cold  shoulder  on  me  the  way  he  did  in  the  Adiron- 
dacks." 

Then  Julia  Henderson  laughed  once  more  as  heartily 
as  her  father  might  have  done.  "When  she  was  quiet 
again,  she  said,  "  Oh,  Alice  Leavenworth,  you  are 
too  absurd.  You  love  him  :  you  know  you  love  him. 
I  know  girls.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  yourself  as 
he  drew  back  in  a  way  that  he  meant  should  annihilate 
me,  and  said, '  This  is  not  Miss  Alcorn.'  It  was  funny, 
Alice." 

"  Funny  ?  I  do  not  see  where  the  fun  was.  He 
was  angry ;  so  was  I,  only  I  could  not  show  it  in  my 
own  doorway.  What  did  you  and  your  father  mean 
by  calling  me  Miss  Alcorn  ?  " 

"Why,  don't  you  know  daddy  yet,  Alice?  He's 
queer,  you  see.  He's  different  from  anyone  else.  He 
never  does  things  as  other  men  do." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that.  But  what  was  the  need  of  his 
being  different  about  me  ?  " 

"Why,  I  expect  he  wanted  to  give  you  and  Mr. 
Haynes  a  pleasant  surprise." 

"  Surprise  ?  Pleasant  ?  How  could  John  Haynes' 
coming  here  surprise  me  ?  Phyllis  wrote  me  he 
would  be  at  your  father's.  You  wrote  me  that  as 


JULIA  BECOMES  MY  CHAMPION         243 

your  faiher  had  a  guest  who  lived  in  the  East,  you 
Avould  take  advantage  of  his  home-going  to  visit  me, 
as  he  had  consented  to  serve  as  your  escort.  I  knew 
who  was  coming.  And  I  was  rather  enjoying  the 
opportunity  I  would  have  of  saying  something  Avithin 
the  lines  of  hospitality  that  would  yet  make  him 
know  he  had  deliberately  broken  his  fine  promise  not 
to  see  me  again  except  by  accident.  But  I  don't  like 
the  place  you  and  your  father  put  me  in  at  all." 

"  But  he  did  not  go  back  on  his  promise.  He  had 
no  idea  he  was  going  to  see  you.  Daddy  used  the 
Alcorn  name  that  Mr.  Haynes  might  not  know." 

"  No  matter,  I  tell  you  I  don't  like  it,  Julia.  I  was 
mortified.  I  never  want  to  see  him  again,  and  I 
wouldn't  if  mother  hadn't  asked  him  back  to-night." 

"  Well,  Alice,  he  behaved  mighty  well  last  night." 

After  that  followed  another  long  pause,  then  Julia 
began  again.  "Dearie,"  she  said,  "daddy  thinks 
more  of  you  than  of  any  other  woman  in  the  world, 
outside  his  own  family.  And  the  preacher's  daddy's 
pet.  If  he'd  seen  you  last  night,  he  would  have  told 
you  to-day  you  were  the  most  horridly  polite  and 
politely  horrid  girl  he  had  ever  seen.  If  I  were  John 
Haynes,  I'd  send  a  note  to  your  mother  telling  her  I 
wouldn't  or  couldn't  come  to-night." 

"What  did  I  do,  Julia?" 

"  Tried  to  be  a  lady  because  he  was  in  your  own 
house,  and  to  make  him  resentful  for  treating  him  as 
if  he  were  an  absolute  nonentity." 

"  Well,  Julia,  that's  what  I  meant  to  do." 

"  Yes,  and  when  he  was  gone  you  treated  that 
Fraser  man  as  if  he  were  the  prince  and  you  would 
be  Cinderella,  and  you  don't  mean  any  such  thing.  I 
can't  bear  the  Fraser  man." 


244  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Well,  what  if  I  like  Bruce,  what  then  ?" 

"  You  don't,  you  know  you  don't.  And  I  am  going 
to  give  you  some  advice.  You  love  that  preacher. 
You  needn't  blush.  It's  not  a  thing  to  be  ashamed  of. 
Daddy  says  he's  the  finest  young  preacher  he  knows, 
and  he'll  be  in  Duqueboro,  pastor  of  our  church,  in 
four  months.  You  see  ?  And  I'll  have  him  marry 
Felix  and  me,  and  you'll  be  maid  of  honor.  Now 
behave.  Treat  him  decently.  When  he  comes 
to-night,  be  as  nice  as  you  were  to  the  Fraser  man 
last  night." 

"But,  Julia  Henderson,  I'll  never  marry  a  preacher. 
I  never  will." 

"  All  right,  my  dear,  you  may  never  have  the 
chance.  You  wouldn't  if  I  were  he.  But  if  I  were 
you,  I'd  be  nice  to-night,  I  would."  Just  then  Willie 
came  bouncing  in.  "  Aunt  Alice  and  Auntie  Julia, 
supper's  ready." 


Two  hours  later,  the  two  girls  stood  with  me  on  the 
veranda,  enjoying  the  marvelous  panorama  of  river  and 
mountain.  But  one  thought  interested  me  more  than 
the  glorious  view.  It  was,  that  the  maid  of  honor  and 
the  teacher  of  the  mission  class  were  probably  identical. 
Returning  to  the  parlor,  the  leading  part  in  the 
conversation  fell  to  me.  I  decided  to  take  a  risk  and 
end  my  uncertainty.  So  I  said  to  the  maid  of  honor  : 

"  I  did  not  see  you  at  the  mission  this  afternoon." 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  I  was  unable  to  go.  But  what 
made  you  expect  to  see  me  there  ?  " 

"  That's  a  rather  hard  question  to  answer,"  was  my 
response.  "  The  natural  thing,  for  one  who  knows  Mr. 
Smith,  is  to  be  interested  in  whatever  interests  him." 


JULIA  BECOMES  MY  CHAMPION        245 

"Air.  Smith?"  she  repeated  in  a  puzzled  way. 
"  But  what  made  you  think  I  had  the  honor  of  Mr. 
Smith's  acquaintance  ?  " 

"  Well,  Mr.  Smith  is  missionary  of  the  First  Church, 
and  you  belong  to  that  church,  and  I  know  Joe  so  well 
that  I'm  sure  that  by  this  time  he  knows  every  man, 
woman,  and  child  in  that  church." 

"  I  see  I  can't  deceive  you,"  she  laughed.  "  I  do 
know  Mr.  Smith,  and  I'm  not  only  interested  in  him 
and  his  work,  but  I'm  a  teacher  in  his  mission."  So 
there  was  one  thing  settled. 

"  I  was  almost  sure  of  that,"  I  answered.  "  And  I 
taught  your  class  this  afternoon."  With  that  remark 
I  caught  my  lady's  eye  and  saw  clear  to  the  bottom 
of  it.  The  flash  as  from  cold  steel  was  not  there. 

"  How  do  you  know  you  had  my  class  ?  "  came  her 
quick  question. 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  tell  you  exactly  how  I  knew  ?  " 
I  replied. 

"  Why,  yes,"  she  said.  "  There  is  nothing  dreadful 
about  that,  is  there  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no :  quite  the  contrary,"  was  my  answer. 
"  You  will  excuse  my  boldness,  but  Mr.  Smith  had  told 
me,"  I  paused  for  just  a  second,  "  had  told  me  that  one 
of  the  loveliest  young  ladies  in  the  church  was  a 
teacher  in  his  mission,  and  he  wanted  me  to  meet  her. 
After  the  session  began,  he  had  to  say,  '  The  lady  isn't 
here  ;  won't  you  take  her  class  ?  '  I  had  already  seen 
that  you  were  not  there.  So  I  only  put  two  and  two 
together." 

"  Your  guess  was  very  clever,  and  I  see  you  haven't 
grown  ungallant  since  you  were  at  St.  David's.  Did 
you  like  my  class  ?  "  she  added. 

"  Oh,  yes.     But  I've  made  an  addition  to  it  which  I 


246  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

fear  you  will  not  like.  However,  if  you're  the  woman 
I  hope  you  are,  you'll  accept  the  legacy  which  my 
day's  teaching  brings  you." 

Then  I  went  on  to  tell  in  full  the  story  of  Tom,  with 
no  detail  omitted.  And  the  thought  of  those  six  girls 
and  that  mother  in  the  poor  hovel  brought  to  the  face 
of  the  maid  of  honor  a  look  of  warm  tenderness  which 
I  had  never  seen  there  before.  When  I  finished,  she 
was  leaning  toward  me. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  she  asked,  "  that  you  did  all  that 
this  afternoon  ?  Did  you  forego  your  visit  with  your 
friends  because  of  that  poor  boy  ?  " 

"I  don't  think  I  forewent  anything,"  I  replied. 
"  It  was  plain  duty,  that  was  all." 

"  I'm  very  glad  you  did  that  duty,"  she  said,  "for it 
gives  me  one  which  I  will  try  to  do.  I  think  there  is 
a  little  lunch  ready  for  us,"  she  added,  rising.  "  Will 
you  come  to  the  dining-room  ?  " 

When  I  said  good-night  and  good-bye  to  them  all, 
the  maid  of  honor  offered  me  her  hand.  "  I  will 
keep  Tom,"  she  said.  "And  if  Grandview  ever  falls 
in  your  way  again,  as  you  travel,  we  will  all  be  much 
pleased  to  see  you." 

With  that,  I  went  out  into  the  night,  feeling  as  that 
god  of  the  Greeks  must  have  felt,  upon  whose  heels 
were  wings. 


XXI 

JIM  GARVEY  REAPPEARS 

I  REACHED  home  Monday  night,  and  found 
Greenton  mantled  in  snow.  The  river  was 
frozen,  and  I  heard  the  ring  of  the  skates  of  boys 
and  girls  with  quickened  pulse,  thinking  of  the  sport 
in  store  for  Tim  and  me.  Tim  was  a  famous  skater. 
When  dinner  was  finished,  the  temptation  to  try  the 
ice  was  strong.  I  took  out  my  skates  and  was  looking 
for  my  fur  cap  when  a  noise  on  the  porch  aroused  me. 
There  was  a  sound  of  feet  stamping  off  the  snow,  and 
then  a  heavy  pounding  on  the  door.  Hastening  to 
answer  the  call,  I  threw  open  the  door,  and  there  stood 
Jim  Garvey. 

Astonishment,  disgust,  aversion,  and  pity  were 
mingled  as  I  saw  him.  My  impulse  was  to  say,  "Get 
out,  you  vagabond."  But  through  my  mind  the 
thought  flashed,  "  You've  been  thinking  you'd  try  to 
save  this  wretch  if  opportunity  came.  Here's  your 
opportunity."  So  I  said,  "  Come  in,  Jim,"  as  heartily 
as  I  could,  and,  taking  him  to  the  library,  I  planted 
him  comfortably  before  the  wood  fire. 

"  Have  you  had  anything  to  eat  to-day  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Not  a  mou'f ul,"  was  the  answer. 

"  You've  had  too  much  to  drink,  though,"  I  said. 

He  made  no  answer.  I  called  my  good  housekeeper 
and  bade  her  make  some  toast,  a  cup  of  strong  coffee, 
and  broil  a  steak.  Then  I  began  to  talk  to  my 
unwelcome  guest. 

247 


248  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"Jim,  I've  been  thinking  about  you  often  lately." 

"  Ain't  been  thinkin'  no  good,  I  s'pose.  Ain't  much 
like  I  use'  ter  be  when  I  car'd  water  fer  the  byes,  be 
I  ?  "  The  poor  wretch  smiled  a  sickly  smile. 

"  Yes,  you  are  exactly  the  same  you  were  then,  only 
you're  further  along  the  road." 

"  What  yer  mean  ?  "  came  over  his  thick  tongue. 

"  I  mean,  when  you  were  a  boy,  in  the  old  baseball 
days,  you  were  a  vagabond ;  profane,  foul-mouthed, 
aimless,  tobacco-chewing,  beer-drinking,  worthless. 
You  were  hurrying  hellward  just  as  fast  as  you  could 
go.  You're  just  the  same  now,  only  a  little  nearer 
hell." 

"  D'  yer  think  so  ?  "  said  he.  His  respect  for  the 
cloth  was  all  that  kept  him  from  an  outbreak  of  anger. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,  and  I  know  so,  Jim  Garvey." 

"Well — I  ain't  never  had  no  chance."  So  he  began 
a  defense  more  crowded  with  profanity  than  any  equal 
number  of  words  I  ever  heard.  "  I  growed  up  from 
nothin'.  M'  mother  wan't  no  mother.  All  the  men  I 
ever  seed  drank  and  swore.  I  chawed  terbacker  'fore 
I  c'd  walk,  a'most.  Ter  beg  was  easier  nor  ter  work. 
I  never  knowed  when  I  didn't  get  drunk.  Th'  high 
bugs  up  town  got  just  as  drunk  as  I  did.  They  got 
drunk  on  champagne.  I  got  drunk  on  gin,  thet  was 
all  the  differ.  A  drunk's  a  drunk,  anyhow.  Th' 
women  in  th'  big  houses  gambled  in  th'  parlors,  with 
ice  cream  a-settin'  by,  an'  I  gambled  in  th'  gin  mills, 
an'  the  town  gals  a-fetchin'  beer.  The  big  bugs  went 
to  church,  an'  it  wan't  no  place  fer  sech  as  me.  Yer 
tried  to  help  a  little,  but  't wan't  no  use.  I  was  born 
on  th'  under  side  o'  things,  an'  I've  staid  on  th'  under 
side  o'  things." 

Said   I,  "  Jim,  I'll  give   you   a  good  square  meal 


JIM  GARVEY  REAPPEARS  249 

to-night,  but  there  won't  be  any  beer  nor  whiskey. 
"Will  you  eat  here  in  my  house  ?  " 

"  Yer  bet  I'll  eat.     I'm  hungry." 

I  took  him  out  to  my  mother's  table,  and  sat  down 
there  with  him.  He  grabbed  his  knife  and  fork,  as  a 
hungry  tiger  might  strike  his  prey. 

"  Hold  on,  Jim,"  I  said,  "  there's  something  that's 
always  done  at  this  table  before  anyone  eats.  Lay 
down  your  knife  and  fork."  He  obeyed  in  mute 
wonder.  I  asked  God's  blessing  on  that  poor  wretch, 
though  I  almost  broke  down  in  the  asking. 

He  looked  at  me  in  dumb  amazement  for  a  full 
minute,  without  moving,  then,  breaking  the  silence, 
said,  "  What  'd  ye  do  thet  fer  ?  " 

"  I  was  asking  God  to  bless  you  and  make  you  a 
better  man." 

"  Is  them  church  doin's  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  you  might  say  that.  Christian  people 
always  ask  God's  blessing  on  their  food.  But  now 
that  it's  done,  you  take  hold  and  eat ;  you're 
hungry." 

He  did  not  have  to  be  told  twice.  He  drank  the 
whole  potful  of  coffee,  strong  enough  to  float  an 
egg.  He  ate  the  toast  and  steak  to  the  last  scrap  and 
crumb.  When  he  had  finished  : 

"  You're  the  best  man  I  ever  see,"  he  said.  "  I 
skipped  my  bail,  yer  know.  Yer  had  ter  pay  thet, 
didn't  yer  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  had  to  pay.  But  all  I  paid  was  money. 
There's  One  who  has  paid  more  than  that  for  you." 

"  Who's  He  ?  " 

"  Jesus  Christ.  He's  paid  for  all  your  poor,  wretched, 
sinful  life,  with  His  own  life." 

"  What'd  He  do  thet  fer  ?  " 


250  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Same  reason  I  went  your  bail  and  got  you  work 
three  or  four  times." 

"  What  was  er  ?  "  he  said  thickly. 

"I  thought  there  was  something  in  you  worth 
saving.  I  wanted  to  save  it,  or  to  help  save  it." 

"  What  was  er  ?  " 

"  Your  soul,  Jim." 

"  That's  too  hot,  parson.     Can't  hold  er." 

"  But  you  must,  Jim.  Jesus  Christ  wants  to  save 
you,  and  I  do.  I  want  to  see  the  man  that's  in  you 
conie  out." 

"Ain't  no  man  in  me  nowhere,  parson.  Ain't  no 
man." 

"  Yes,  you  are,  Jim.  There's  a  man  in  you,  but  it 
will  take  three  persons  to  get  him  out." 

"  Who  be  they  ?  " 

"  Jesus  Christ,  and  you,  and  I." 

"  If  that's  Him,  He's  a  good  un.  But  'e  ain't  up  to 
you.  He  ain't  no  better  nor  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,  He  is,  Jim.  I  would  not  be  good  as  you 
say  I  am,  except  for  Him.  All  that  I  am  He  has 
made  me." 

"  Hold  on,  parson.  Don't  curve  'em  so."  Presently 
he  added,  "  I'm  goin'  now." 

"Not  yet,  Jim:  you've  not  told  me  yet  why  you 
came  here  to-night." 

"  Wai,  I  was  strapped."  So  the  pitiful  story  started, 
as  Jim  dropped  back  into  his  chair.  "  When  I  came 
out  o'  Sing  Sing,  they  axed  me  whar  I  b'longed.  I 
told  'em  Greenton.  They  found  out  the  railroad  and 
stage  fare,  an'  they  gin  me  three  seventy-five  to  git 
'ere,  an'  fifteen  dollars  that  I'd  earned  by  bein'  good. 
Just  as  soon  as  I  got  out  o'  the  gate,  a  feller  walked 
up,  and  he  sez,  '  Hello,  pard ;  been  expectin'  ye.  Yer 


JIM  GARVEY  REAPPEARS  251 

name's  Mike,  ain't  it  ?  '  '  No,'  sez  I,  '  it's  Jim.'  '  Oh, 
yes,'  sez  he,  '  sure  'nough — Jim.  Now,  Jim — Jim 
what,  did  yer  say  ? '  '  Jim  Garvey,'  sez  I.  '  Oh,  yes, 
I  remember,'  sez  he.  '  Now,  Jim  Garvey,  come  right 
over  to  my  house.  We're  waitin'  to  see  ye.'  An'  he 

•/  t/ 

took  me  over  to  his  saloon.  I  hadn't  had  nothin'  to 
drink  in  two  year.  He  gin  me  a  ball,  an'  I  offered 
to  pay,  but  he  said  no,  that  was  his  treat.  Then  he 
gin  me  another.  Next  thing  I  knowed,  I  was  out  in 
the  country,  in  a  barn,  on  the  hay.  Strapped — didn't 
hev  a  cent.  I  got  inter  the  road — begged  some  break 
fast  at  a  house — then  went  on  trampin'  an'  beggin'. 
Walked  most  o'  the  way  up  here.  Been  two  days 
walkin'  from  Troy.  Come  back  to  the  old  town 
'cause  there  wan't  nowhere  else  ter  go.  Went  ter 
Bob's,  ter  see  ef  I  couldn't  beg  a  drink  o'  gin,  an'  Bob 
ain't  got  no  gin,  'cause  he  ain't  got  no  bar.  Bob  says 
he's  got  pious.  I  couldn't  go  thet  racket.  Then  I 
come  over  here  ter  ask  yer  how  much  I  owed  yer  fer 
skippin'  my  bail."  This  was  the  first  sign  I  had  ever 
seen  of  anything  like  gratitude  or  humanity  in  him. 

"  Let  that  go,  Jim :  you  can  never  pay  that.  But 
do  you  know,  if  the  police  find  you  here,  they'll  have 
you  up  on  the  old  charge  ?  " 

"  No  !  will  they  ?  "  A  look  of  real  terror  came  into 
the  face  of  the  poor  wretch.  It  was  clear  he  wished 
no  more  attention  from  the  police.  To  his  frightened 
question  I  answered  briefly,  "  Sure,"  and  waited  for 
the  full  power  of  fear  to  shake  him  thoroughly.  After 
a  few  moments  of  thought : 

"  Parson,"  he  said,  "  I'll  git  right  out  to-night." 
He  rose,  with  the  purpose  of  escape  full  upon  him. 

"  No,  Jim."  I  laid  a  detaining  hand  on  his  arm. 
"  That  means  hell.  That  means  more  crime.  You 


252  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

have  no  friend  but  me  in  this  world.  You've  got  no 
money.  You'll  steal,  or  worse."  He  could  not  deny 
my  prophecy.  I  went  on  with  my  pleading.  "  Stay 
here,  Jim.  Go  with  me  to  Justice  Wendell  in  the 
morning.  Give  yourself  up  on  the  old  charge.  I'll 
go  with  you.  It'll  be  jail  for  a  year.  Go  to  jail,  and, 
when  you  come  out,  strike  straight  for  me.  Jinimie 
MacNaughton  and  Bob  Hazeltine  and  Justice  Wen 
dell  and  I  will  be  your  friends.  If  I'm  not  here 
when  you  get  out,  go  to  Jimmie.  He'll  find  you  work. 
But  you've  got  to  quit  gin,"  I  finished,  decidedly. 
"  You've  got  to  do  just  as  we  four  men  say." 

"  Don't  Bob  drink  no  more  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  a  drop." 

"  Don't  Jimmie  MacNaughton  drink  no  more  ?  " 

"  Not  a  drop." 

"  What's  made  'em  break  off  ?  What's  happened  to 
'em  ?  " 

"Jesus  Christ.  He  made  them  break  off.  lie's 
happened  to  them." 

"  I  can't  git  under  thet  ball,  parson.  Thet  beats 
me."  Then  he  slouched  down  in  his  chair  and  was 
silent. 

For  fifteen  minutes  the  room  was  as  still  as  an 
uninhabited  globe.  I  offered  Jim  a  cigar,  but  he  shook 
his  head.  I  saw  what  I  had  never  seen  before,  a 
besotted  soul  struggling  for  the  first  time  with  the  idea 
of  self-surrender  for  the  sake  of  good.  At  last  he 
roused  up  to  say  slowly  : 

"  Parson,  I'll  stay ;  I'll  go  to  jail." 

"  Good,  Jim !  good  !  I'll  stand  by  you,"  I  cried. 
"Now,  I'm  going  to  make  sure  that  you  do  it.  I'm 
going  to  give  you  a  bath  and  put  you  to  bed  here." 

To  this  he  objected  somewhat,  but  my  will  was 


JIM  GARVEY  REAPPEARS  253 

stronger  than  his  and  had  its  way.  To  the  spare 
room  which  had  been  my  mother's  pride,  I  took  him, 
and,  after  a  hot  bath  in  the  bathroom  opposite,  he 
went  to  bed  clean,  I  suppose  for  the  first  time  in 
weeks. 

But  I  was  not  yet  assured  of  success  in  my  plan. 
That  such  a  fellow  would  be  likely  to  change  his  mind 
was  the  natural  thing  to  expect,  and  I  felt  a  suspicion 
that  he  would  attempt  to  sneak  out  of  the  house  after 
all  was  quiet.  I  knew  that  Jim's  only  salvation  lay  in 
the  county  jail  and  in  Jimmie  MadSTaughton's  help 
when  his  time  was  served,  so  I  determined  to  prevent 
his  departure  if  he  intended  it. 

In  addition  to  all  this,  I  had  by  no  means  forgotten 
the  night,  more  than  two  years  ago,  when  he  stole  the 
heirloom.  That  episode  of  the  silver  cup  was  a  sore 
spot  with  me,  but  if  the  merciful  Christ  would  only 
use  me  to  save  the  soul  of  this  wretched  man,  who, 
in  his  own  words,  "  had  never  had  no  chance,"  the 
compensation  would  far  outweigh  the  value  of  many 
silver  cups. 

Just  as  I  closed  the  door  on  him,  I  said  : 

"  Jim,  you  played  a  very  dirty  trick  on  me  in  this 
house  long  ago,  when  you  stole  my  cup.  Don't  do  it 
again  to-night.  You  see,  I'm  trusting  you  once  more. 
I'm  giving  you  the  best  I  have.  Don't  try  to  beat  me 
this  time,  Jim." 

"  I  won't,"  he  said.     "  I  won't,  so  help  me." 

But  I  knew  my  man  well  by  this  time. 

I  listened  carefully  until  I  heard  him  go  to  bed. 
Then  I  placed  a  chair  by  the  door  of  his  room  and  sat 
down  to  wait. 

One  o'clock  came  before  any  sound  rewarded  my 
vigilance.  Then  I  heard  Jim  astir.  He  was  very 


254  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

quiet,  and  his  tarrying  lasted  much  longer  than  if  he 
had  been  engaged  only  in  dressing.  Finally  I  heard 
a  bureau  drawer  slide,  and  remembered  what  I  had 
hitherto  forgotten,  or  I  should  not  have  put  temptation 
in  his  way.  In  one  of  the  drawers  of  the  bureau  in 
the  spare  room  was  a  morocco  case,  containing  the 
jewelry  that  had  been  my  mother's.  Its  value  was 
probably  not  more  than  five  hundred  dollars. 

The  drawer  creaked  shut.  Then  I  heard  other 
noises,  which  I  could  only  account  for  on  the  supposition 
that  Jim  was  making  examinations  for  some  means  of 
exit  other  than  the  door.  Failing  in  this,  however, 
there  came  presently  a  stealthy  turning  of  the  knob, 
and  the  door  beside  me  opened. 

"  Are  you  sick.  Jim  ?  "  I  asked  solicitously.  "  Do 
you  want  a  doctor  ?  " 

At  sight  of  me,  he  was  the  picture  of  guilt  and 
despair. 

"  No,  yer  don't,  parson,"  he  groaned.  "  Yer  know 
I  don't  want  no  doctor.  Yer  been  watchin',  'cause 
yer  guessed  I'd  try  ter  run  away.  I  didn't  mean  ter, 
when  I  went  ter  bed,  honest.  But  when  a  feller's 
alone  he  weakens." 

"  All  right,  Jim,"  I  said  gently.  "  I  was  afraid  of 
just  that,  so  I  thought  I'd  watch.  I  want  to  help  you 
to  be  a  man,  Jim,  and  I  couldn't,  if  you  ran  away. 
But,"  I  added,  "  I  never  for  a  moment  thought  you'd 
steal  ray  mother's  jewelry,  until  I  heard  you  ransack 
ing  the  bureau  drawers." 

"Tain't    no    use,    parson,"    he    cried,    miserably. 
"  'Tain't  no  use.     Yer'd  better  lemme  go." 

"  No,  Jim,"  I  answered,  firmly.  "  I  made  up  my 
mind  long  ago  to  save  you,  if  I  had  the  chance.  Now, 
God  has  given  me  the  chance.  But  I  can't  do  it,  if 


JIM  GARVEY  REAPPEARS  255 

you  run  off.  I  can,  if  you'll  go  back  to  bed  now,  and 
to-morrow  give  yourself  up  to  Justice  Wendell." 

The  poor  wretch  had  another  struggle,  standing 
there  in  the  hall,  with  my  mother's  jewelry  in  his 
pocket.  At  last  he  burst  out : 

"  I'll  do  her,  parson  !  I'll  go  back  ter  bed — I  will — 
I'll  give  myself  up  ter-morrer — I  will.  I  didn't  mean 
ter  steal,  when  I  went  in  there,  parson.  I  didn't. 
But  I'm  bad,"  hopelessly.  "  If  you  peach,  I'll  get  ten 
years  in  Sing  Sing,  next  time.  Don't  blow  on  me, 
parson,  'n  I'll  quit  stealin',  I  will." 

"  Give  me  what  you've  taken  that  belongs  to  me, 
Jim."  He  unloaded.  From  his  pockets  came  rings, 
bracelets,  chains,  pins,  buckles,  hair  ornaments,  all 
inseparably  connected  with  my  mother  and  with  my 
own  childhood. 

Poor  Jim !  he  had  never  performed  such  an  act  of 
self-abasement  before  in  all  his  life.  For  the  first  time, 
I  think,  he  felt  the  sense  of  shame.  I  proceeded  to 
deepen  it. 

"Jim,"  I  said,  "the  case  I  had  them  all  in  was 
beautiful.  Why  did  you  not  take  that  too  ? "  He 
made  no  reply.  "  Did  you  leave  that  to  pay  me  for 
the  supper  and  the  bath,  Jim  ?  " 

Then  he  broke  out :  "  Say,  parson,  don't  rub  her  in 
no  furder.  I  can't  stan'  it,  I  can't.  I  never  seed  no 
body  like  you  afore.  I  throw  her  up.  I'll  go  to  bed. 
You  needn't  set  up  no  more.  I'll  be  here  in  the 
mornin',  an'  I  won't  steal  nothin'.  I  won't,  so  help 
me  —  "  and  the  poor  fellow  swore  a  streak  of  oaths 
that  was  appalling.  They  were  his  only  safety  valve. 

I  took  him  at  his  word  and  went  to  bed.  In  the 
morning,  when  he  was  called  for  breakfast,  he  was 
there  in  the  spare  room,  fast  asleep.  He  came  down 


256  THE  MAID  OF  HONOIl 

presently.  After  we  had  eaten,  we  went  together  over 
to  Wendell's  office,  where  he  surrendered  himself  on 
the  old  charge.  Tim  sent  him  to  the  lock-up  until 
court  should  meet  in  our  county  town  in  January. 
When  that  time  came  he  pleaded  guilty,  saved  a  trial, 
and  on  the  petition  of  Hazeltine,  Wendell,  Harfis,  and 
myself,  the  court  gave  him  one  year  in  the  county 
jail,  instead  of  a  longer  term  in  the  State  prison. 
Jiminie  MacNaughton  agreed  that  on  the  day  Jim  was 
set  free  he  would  be  at  the  jail  door  to  take  him  in 
hand,  and  to  keep  him  away  from  the  sharks  that  are 
always  waiting  for  such  carrion.  When  all  this  was 
settled,  we  formed  an  association,  whose  members 
were  Wendell,  Hazeltine,  MacNaughton,  and  myself, 
and  whose  purpose  was  to  bring  Jim  Garvey  to  his 
lost  manhood. 


XXII 

THREE  LETTERS 

CHRISTMAS  was  coming  on  very  rapidly,  and 
there  were  certain  things  to  be  made  ready 
for  that  holiday  time  which  the  maid  of  honor 
could    execute    better   than  any   other   person.     To 
engage   her    services   made   a   letter   necessary,   and 
though  the  experiment  was  a  risk,  I  decided  to  try  the 
one  and  take  the  other.     But  to  write  the  letter  was 
not  easy.     It  would  be  my  first  to  the  woman  I  loved, 
and  I  did  not  wish  it  to  be  the  last.     After  some  futile 
attempts,  I  wrote  as  follows : 

"  MY  DEAR  MAID  OF  HONOR  : 

"  I  trust  my  title  for  you  will  awake  the  same 
pleasurable  memories  as  are  mine  wyhen  I  think  of  our 
meeting  at  St.  David's. 

"  I  am  writing  to  you  because  Christmas  is  approach 
ing,  and  I  am  anxious  to  give  a  little  Christmas  to 
Tom,  my  legacy  to  you.  I  inclose  a  little  sum  of 
money,  and  wish  with  it  you  would  buy  for  him  a 
Bible  with  good  coarse  print.  I  want  him  to  have  a 
pair  of  warm  mittens  to  wear  to  Sabbath-school,  and 
a  coarser  woolen  pair  for  every  day.  If  you  see  any 
thing  else  you  think  he  will  need,  and  there  is  money 
left,  please  buy  him  what  your  sense  of  the  fitness  of 
things  dictates,  and  tell  him  the  things  are  from  a 
friend.  You  need  not  tell  him  who  I  am,  for  he  will 
not  know. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  know  by  and  by  if  Tom  comes 
to  the  mission  steadily.  I  am, 

"  Very  sincerely  yours, 

"  THE  BEST  MAN  OF  ST.  DAVID'S." 
257 


258  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

There  yet  remained  some  things  to  be  done,  sug 
gested  by  my  sincere  desire  for  Tom's  betterment, 
which  the  maid  of  honor  could  not  do.  His  shanty 
home  must  be  repaired.  A  new  sill  for  the  entrance 
was  sadly  needed  ;  a  door  with  only  one  hinge  was 
almost  worse  than  none  ;  while  a  house  from  whose 
windows  the  panes  of  glass  were  gone  would  make 
but  a  cheerless  Christmas,  no  matter  how  many  Bibles 
might  be  given  to  Tom.  Elder  Harfis  was  still  in 
Grandview,  and  I  knew  that  if  Joe  would  once  take 
him  to  that  pitiful  home,  he  would  gladly  pay  the  cost 
of  doing  the  things  needed  to  make  it  more  livable. 
So  another  letter  went  to  Joe,  containing  these  sug 
gestions  and  a  request  that  the  work  should  be  done 
before  Christmas  day. 

With  these  matters  satisfactorily  arranged,  my 
attention  was  turned  once  more  to  the  work  in  Green- 
ton.  For  the  first  time  in  a  pastorate  of  more  than 
four  years,  a  restless  and  feverish  spirit  held  me.  The 
idea  of  a  call  to  Duqueboro  was  always  in  my  mind. 
I  definitely  wanted  that  call,  although  the  largeness 
of  the  place  which  the  thought  had  made  for  itself 
in  my  mind  annoyed  me.  To  leave  my  boyhood's 
home — my  father's  and  my  mother's  graves — the 
church  which  had  grown  from  a  small  one  of  three 
hundred  members  to  a  large  one  of  more  than  eight 
hundred — Tim  Wendell — Elder  Harfis — to  leave  all 
this  would  cost  me  many  a  pang.  And  yet  I  wanted 
to  go.  Duqueboro  was  attractive  because  of  Hender 
son.  The  eccentric,  warm-hearted,  altogether  singu 
lar  Scotchman  had  become  very  dear  to  me. 

All  through  the  holiday  season,  my  work  was  done 
feverishly,  half-heartedly.  With  each  day's  mail,  I 
looked  for  two  letters  which  did  not  come.  One 


THREE  LETTERS  259 

would  have  borne  the  postmark  "  Grand  view,"  and 
the  other,  "Duqueboro."  Finally,  when  my  hot  blood 
had  made  my  nerves  too  unsteady  for  work,  to  end 
the  suspense  I  wrote  to  Henderson.  I  told  him  first 
the  story  of  Jirn  Garvey.  With  this  as  preliminary 
I  came  at  last  to  the  only  things  for  which  the  letter 
had  been  begun. 

"  You  are  a  Scotchman,"  I  wrote.  "  You  did  me 
all  up  on  the  Grand  view  excursion.  I  can  see  now 
what  all  your  moves  meant.  The  visit  to  Duqueboro, 
Miss  Julia's  need  of  an  escort  to  Grandview,  the  delay 
to  the  end  of  the  week,  were  part  of  a  plan  to  land 
me  in  Grandview  and  bring  me  face  to  face  with 
your  girl,  who  was  also  my  girl,  which  you  knew  and 
I  did  not.  The  Social  Union  was  a  ruse,  too.  You 
wanted  to  make  me  tell  that  story  before  your  Pres 
byterians  so  as  to  make  an  impression  on  some  who 
did  not  hear  me  preach  that  Sunday.  You  took 
mighty  good  care  next  day  that  I  shouldn't  see  the 
morning  paper  with  its  red  headlines.  I  bought  one 
of  a  newsboy  on  the  train,  and  I  have  that  wonderful 
article  pasted  in  my  scrap-book  for  my  children  to 
read.  But  you  failed,  '  I  doubt,'  as  you  love  to  say, 
in  both  your  games.  The  girl  had  discounted  me  long 
ago,  and  the  Kir  Jear  Church  discounts  me  now.  You 
played  me  as  you  did  the  big  trout  at  Greenton,  and 
you  landed  me  on  the  Grandview  porch  all  right; 
beyond  that,  you  failed.  But  I'll  give  you  credit  for 
sense  about  a  woman's  beauty.  She  is  beautiful. 
She's  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  have  ever  seen. 

"  Strange,  about  that  girl.  Three  different  men 
pick  out  a  girl  for  me  to  marry,  and  each  of  them 
vows  she  is  the  most  beautiful  girl  he  knows.  When 
I  get  the  thing  sifted  down  to  the  facts,  lo  and  be- 


260  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

hold,  she  is  the  very  same  girl.  Harry  wants  me  to 
marry  Phyllis's  maid  of  honor.  You  want  me  to 
marry  Julia's  beautiful  friend.  Joe  Smith  wants  me 
tp  marry  his  lovely  mission  Sabbath-school  teacher. 
You  want  me  to  marry  her :  Joe  wants  me  to  marry 
her :  Harry  wants  me  to  marry  her :  I  want  me  to 
marry  her.  We're  all  agreed,  except  the  girl :  she 
doesn't  want  me  to  marry  her. 

"  Oh,  she  was  nice  enough :  she  couldn't  help  her 
self.  But  I  made  no  conquest.  She  has  a  constant 
attendant,  a  man  called  Fraser,  not  in  the  least  worthy 
of  her.  When  you  see  Harry  Sinclair,  tell  him  that 
the  maid  of  honor  is  more  than  a  match  for  the 
Rev.  Joseph  Smith  and  the  Rev.  Dr.  Henry  Sinclair 
and  David  Henderson,  Esq. 

"  You've  missed  on  the  church  scheme,  too.  Those 
headlines  killed  me.  In  Green  ton  I  Avas  born,  and 
here  I'll  stay  and  work  and  die.  My  bachelor  home 
is  good  enough  for  any  man,  and  with  it  I  will  be 
content.  Come  out  in  April,  and  we'll  try  the  trout. 

"  With  affection  yours, 
"THE  '  No  BENEDICTION  '  PREACHER." 

To  post  that  letter  was  a  grim  satisfaction.  There 
would  be  an  answer  from  Henderson,  of  course,  which 
would  in  some  way  settle  several  things.  So  I  waited 
with  quieter  nerves. 

That  same  twentieth  day  of  January,  one  year  to  a 
day  since  my  receipt  of  the  memorable  letter  from 
Harry  Sinclair,  in  Rome,  was  signalized  not  only  by 
the  posting  of  my  epistle  to  Henderson,  but  by  the 
coming  in  the  evening  mail  of  a  letter  from  Grand  view, 
whose  superscription,  alas,  had  been  written  by  the 
hand  of  Joe  Smith.  Before  the  reading  of  it  was 


THREE  LETTERS  261 

finished,  disappointment  at  the  familiar  handwriting 
had  given  way  to  delight  at  its  contents. 
Joe  began  in  his  own  way  : 

"  OLD  BOY  : 

"  You  think  you're  smart.  Well,  so  do  I.  You 
beat  me  on  the  girl  game.  I'm  not  in  the  play  when 
you  begin.  I've  been  too  busy  with  Christmas  cele 
bration  and  the  '  Week  of  Prayer '  in  January  and 
a  blessed  revival  that  followed  in  the  mission,  to  write 
letters  even  to  so  good  a  friend  as  you.  But  now  I've 
come  to  a  breathing  place,  and  I've  a  great  story  to 
tell  you.  Your  letter  about  Tom's  home  came  all 
right,  and  the  day  before  Mr.  Harfis  went  home  we 
walked  down  there.  He  was  horrified.  He  did  not 
suppose  there  could  be  such  squalor  and  misery  in  the 
centre  of  our  American  life.  We  found  out  who 
owned  the  place,  and  Harfis  never  rested  until  he 
cornered  the  owner  and  bought  the  shanty  for  one 
thousand  dollars.  Then  he  gave  me  orders  to  look 
after  the  repairs.  The  day  after  he  returned  to 
Greenton,  I  started  a  contractor  at  the  work  of  repair 
ing  the  house,  and  the  first  person  I  met,  as  the  con 
tractor  and  I  stepped  into  the  house,  was  my  mission 
school  teacher,  the  girl  I  wanted  you  to  see  and  who 
wasn't  at  the  school.  Oh,  you  fraud  !  I  was  sur 
prised,  and  so  was  she.  She  spoke  first.  Women 
always  do.  '  How  do  you  happen  to  be  here,  Mr. 
Smith  ? '  '  Oh,  I  came  to  look  after  the  wants  of  a 
new  mission  scholar  who  was  in  school  last  Sunday.' 
'  Was  the  scholar  one  that  you  found  and  brought 
into  the  school  ?  '  she  said.  l  Oh,  no  ;  nobody  found 
him,'  I  answered.  'He  came  in  and  dropped  down 
into  the  first  inviting  place.  I  had  a  friend  here  over 


202  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

Sunday,  a  preacher  from  Greenton,  and  he  had  your 
class,  got  interested  in  this  boy,  and  went  home  with 
him  after  school.  He  came  back  to  my  house  to 
dinner  and  told  me  what  a  wretched  place  the  boy 
came  from,  and  after  he  got  home  he  wrote  me  to  go 
down  and  look  after  some  repairs  and  have  them 
made  before  Christmas.  But  what  brought  you  down 
here  ? '  She  laughed  and  said,  '  That  same  man,  your 
preacher  friend.  He  wrote  asking  me,  too,  to  provide 
some  little  things  for  Tom's  Christmas,  and  he  sent 
the  money  for  them,  so  I  came  to  see  what  else  might 
be  needed.'  Then  I  said,  too  astonished  to  believe  I 
had  heard  aright,  '  Do  you  know  the  Greenton 
preacher  ? '  '  Oh,  yes,'  said  she, '  he  was  Miss  Hender 
son's  escort,  and  dined  with  us  Saturday  night,  and 
spent  Sunday  evening,  after  coming  from  your  house.' 
I  whistled.  '  You  seem  amused,'  said  she.  '  I  am,' 
said  I.  'Why  didn't  he  tell  me  he  knew  you?' 
4  Was  there  any  reason  why  he  should  tell  you  ? '  she 
said.  And  there  she  had  me.  I  couldn't  tell  her 
what  the  reason  was.  I  said,  '  Did  you  think  he  was 
nice  ?  '  She  laughed  and  answered,  '  Yes,  Mr.  Smith, 
I  have  always  thought  that,  ever  since  I  first  knew 
him.'  Then  I  was  at  sea  worse  than  ever.  I 
blundered  along,  '  First  knew  him  ?  Have  you  known 
him  before  now  ?  '  '  Why,  yes,'  she  answered,  '  he 
was  best  man  at  a  wedding  where  I  was  maid  of 
honor,  more  than  two  years  ago.' 

"  Say,  boy,  you  beat  the  whole  combination  !  But 
why  in  the  name  of  all  the  old  Greek  gods  and 
goddesses  you  didn't  go  after  that  girl  when  it  would 
have  done  you  some  good,  I  can't  understand.  I'm 
afraid  it's  too  late  now.  Bruce  Fraser  is  around  here 
all  the  time — every  Saturday  night  and  Sunday. 


THREE  LETTERS  263 

Dr.  Fraser  is  one  of  the  best,  but  the  son  is  bad  all 
through.  I  hear  he  has  said  if  you  don't  keep  away 
from  here  he'll  throw  you  into  the  river  some  night. 
Helen  says  Miss  Leaven  worth  doesn't  care  for  Bruce, 
but  I'm  afraid  the  matter  has  gone  too  far. 

"  I  must  stop.  Tom's  going  to  have  a  comfortable 
home,  and  he  comes  regularly  to  mission  school  every 
Sunday  afternoon. 

"  Good-bye,  old  man.  You  beat  Henderson  all 
hollow. 

"  Ever  yours, 

"JOE." 

Even  with  that  letter,  with  its  information  regard 
ing  my  lady's  favor,  the  end  had  not  been  reached  of 
the  things  capable  of  making  me  happy,  that  grew  out 
of  my  visit  to  Grandview.  The  most  blessed  event  of 
my  life  was  my  discovery  of  Tom.  Two  days  later  a 
letter  came  from  Grandview,  the  letter  that  had  been 
so  anxiously  awaited.  My  custom  was  to  open  the 
mail  as  I  walked  home  from  the  post-office,  but  this 
morning  saw  a  departure  from  that  custom.  I  put  the 
letter  into  my  pocket  unopened,  to  remain  there  until 
I  reached  my  easy  chair  before  the  study  fire.  My 
excitement  was  beyond  anything  ever  caused  by  a 
letter  before. 

To  transcribe  its  words  from  memory  is  easy.  A 
second  and  a  third  reading  fastened  its  contents  in  my 
heart.  This  is  what  the  peerless  lady  wrote : 

"  MY  DEAR  BEST  MAN  OF  ST.  DAVID'S  : 

"  As  that  is  the  form  of  your  signature,  I  sup 
pose  that  is  the  way  in  which  you  would  be  addressed. 
Your  letter  written  before  Christmas  was  welcome, 
since  it  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  do  a  little  good.  I 


264  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

bought  the  Bible  for  one  dollar,  two  pairs  of  mittens 
for  one  dollar  and  a  quarter,  three  pairs  of  socks  for 
seventy-five  cents.  I  also  bought  a  pair  of  heavy 
shoes  for  two  dollars.  That  just  used  up  the  money 
which  you  so  kindly  sent. 

"  I  have  heard  from  Mr.  Smith  of  the  purchase  of 
the  place  where  Tom  lives,  and  of  the  repairs  which 
are  in  progress.  Mr.  Smith  said  that  this  also  was 
prompted  by  your  thoughtfulness.  You  would  have 
full  reward  could  you  see  the  happiness  that  has  come 
to  the  mother,  and  the  different  look  that  may  already 
be  seen  in  Tom's  face.  I  had  a  real  joy  on  the  Sunday 
that  I  gave  him  the  Bible.  He  is  the  most  stupid  and 
stolid  soul  I  have  ever  seen.  On  that  same  day  I  had 
had  an  experience  with  him  which  utterly  disconcerted 
me.  That  was  before  I  gave  him  the  Bible.  The 
Sunday  after  you  were  here,  I  gave  Tom  a  lesson  paper 
and  told  him  two  or  three  times  over  what  it  was  for 
and  how  to  use  it.  I  read  the  Golden  Text  and  had 
him  read  it  also.  I  asked  him  to  learn  it  by  heart. 
Well,  he  came  next  Sunday,  and  when  I  tried  him, 
here  is  what  resulted  : 

" '  Tom,  what  is  the  Golden  Text  ? ' 

"'I  dunno.' 

"'"Why,  yes,  Tom,  you  must  know;  can't  you 
think  ? ' 

" '  I  dunno.' 

" « Why,  Tom,  it  begins,  "  Though— I  am— poor  "— 
what  comes  next,  Tom  ? ' 

"  <  I  dunno.' 

" '  Have  you  studied  the  lesson,  Tom  ? ' 

"  No  answer. 

"  *  Have  you,  Tom  ? ' 

"  No  answer. 


THREE  LETTERS  265 

"  '  "Why  don't  you  answer  me,  Tom  ? ' 

" '  I  dunno.' 

"  '  Have  you  studied  the  lesson  at  all,  Tom  ? ' 

"  A  shake  of  the  head  and  a  muttered  inarticulation 
was  his  only  response. 

"  '  Why  did  you  not  study,  Tom  ? ' 

"'I  dunno.' 

"  I  gave  up  utterly  defeated,  wholly  despairing,  and 
wishing  your  legacy  was  with  its  giver  ;  to  my  further 
annoyance,  the  rest  of  the  boys  were  laughing  at  my 
failure.  But  when  toward  the  close  of  the  hour  I  gave 
Tom  the  Bible,  I  had  a  little  compensation.  He  was 
really  pleased.  He  took  it,  leaned  forward  as  if  he 
would  speak,  mumbled  something  probably  intended 
for  thanks,  and  subsided  into  silence.  I  asked  him  if 
he  would  try  to  read  that  Bible,  and  he  answered,  '  I 
dunno.'  Since  then  he  has  been  regularly  in  the 
school,  and  he  washes  his  hands  and  face  before  coming. 
You  were  pleased  to  call  this  boy  your  legacy  to  me. 
I  have  described  what  I  have  done  thus  far  with  the 
trust.  Thanking  you  for  the  opportunity  you  have 
given  me  of  showing  a  kindness  in  your  name  to  this 
poor  soul, 

"  I  am  yours  sincerely, 

"  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR." 

It  was  near  to  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  the 
reading  of  that  letter  was  finished.  The  clock  struck 
eleven,  and  found  me  still  seated  before  the  fire,  with 
the  letter  in  my  hand.  The  clock  struck  twelve, 
finding  me  still  there,  with  the  letter  in  my  hand. 
Presently  there  came  a  call  to  luncheon,  which 
broke  my  revery.  After  the  meal,  I  made  a 
careful  copy  of  the  letter,  went  up  to  the  spare 


266  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

room,  took  out  the  morocco  case  of  jewels,  laid  the 
original  in  the  case,  locked  it  in  securely,  carried  the 
whole  down  to  the  city  bank,  rented  a  safe  deposit 
box,  a  thing  I  had  never  thought  of  when  there  was 
only  jewelry  to  protect,  and  placed  therein  my  treas 
ures.  There  is  no  question  but  that  I  was  in  love. 
The  girl  had  written  no  word  that  looked  at  all  as  if 
she  cared  for  me,  and  yet ! 

My  pastoral  calls  that  afternoon  were  poor  affairs. 
Before  my  vision  was  always  the  maid  of  honor. 
"When  the  afternoon  had  passed,  and  I  reached  home, 
I  found  a  telegram  awaiting  me  from  Henderson.  It 
read: 

"Called  unanimously  to  Kir  Jear  Church.  Salary 
four  thousand,  and  house.  Wait  letter. 

"  HENDERSON. 

The  letter  came  next  day.  Henderson  wrote  for  the 
session. 

"  DEAR  PASTOR  To  BE  : 

"  The  session  has  asked  me  to  communicate  to 
you  the  action  of  the  congregational  meeting. 

"  The  reason  why  it  was  not  held  earlier  was  the 
coming  of  Christmas  and  the  week  of  prayer.  You 
know  the  week  of  prayer  is  the  most  important  week 
of  the  whole  year.  That  is  the  week  in  which  all  the 
churches  have  agreed  that  God  is  around,  if  He  ever 
is.  He  doesn't  have  anything  else  to  do  that  week  but 
listen  to  prayers.  He  has  a  hard  time  hearing  prayers 
in  Kir  Jear  Church,  I  doubt,  for  only  Major  Ardman, 
and  the  old  colored  janitor,  and  a  little  lawyer  named 
Brush,  ever  pray.  I  pray,  of  course,  but  I  don't  like 


THREE  LETTERS  267 

to  pray  every  night.  But  the  week  of  prayer  is  ortho 
dox,  and  it  always  has  been  held  in  Kir  Jear  Church, 
and  it  always  must  be.  What's  orthodox  has  to  go, 
whether  it  does  any  good  or  not.  When  the  week  of 
prayer  was  over,  we  were  all  pretty  nearly  worn  out, 
but  we  called  the  congregational  meeting. 

"  The  first  thing  to  be  done  after  they  had  elected  rne 
chairman  was  to  hear  the  report  of  the  committee  on 
finding  a  pastor.  I  announced  that  as  the  first  order 
of  business,  but  before  Lewis  Jordan  could  get  to  his 
feet,  a  little  man  rose  and  said,  '  I  move  the  committee 
on  finding  a  pastor  be  discharged.  They  have  been 
going  all  over,  spending  our  money  for  a  year,  and  it 
was  all  no  good.  A  chance  man  comes  along,  as  the 
chairman's  guest,  and  he  pleased  everybody.  I  move 
we  call  that  man.'  Then  another  man  hopped  up  and 
said,  '  Was  that  the  man  with  the  red  head  — 

"  '  No,  sir,  it  ain't,'  said  the  little  man.  '  My  man's 
head  ain't  red.  It's  blacker  than  yours.  I  move  we 
call  him.'  'Wait  till  I  get  through, 'said  the  other  man. 
'  Is  he  the  man  with  the  red  headlines  in  the  Clarion  ?  ' 

"  Then  I  told  'em  the  Clarion  stuff  was  a  pack  of 
lies,  and  I  set  you  up  in  good  shape.  Jordan  seconded 
the  little  man's  motion,  and  we  took  a  ballot.  You 
got  every  vote  that  wasn't  cast  for  some  other  man. 
Then  a  motion  was  made  to  make  the  call  unanimous, 
with  four  thousand  and  a  house.  They  passed  that 
with  a  big  noise. 

"  Now,  you're  going  to  have  a  house.  And  you 
can't  live  in  a  house  without  a  wife.  So  you  see 
you've  got  to  marry  the  girl  I  found  for  you.  You 
say  she  don't  care  for  you.  Man,  she's  only  waiting 
for  you  to  ask  her  whether  she  does  or  no.  You 
thought  I  didn't  know  before  who  was  the  girl  you 


268  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

were  so  dead  in  love  with.  Why,  man,  I  knew  that 
night  at  your  mother's  table.  I  knew  who  Phyllis's 
maid  of  honor  was,  at  the  time  of  the  wedding.  You 
can't  fool  a  Scotchman.  I  would  have  had  you  landed 
long  ago,  if  your  lovely  mother  hadn't  gone  away  so 
unexpectedly.  I've  had  my  own  time  with  you.  Now, 
I  want  you  married. 

"  Julia's  a  credit  to  her  Scotch  father.  She  knew 
all  about  you  and  the  Grand  view  girl,  when  you  and 
she  went  east.  She  told  me  how  you  acted  on  the 
porch  that  night.  She  fooled  you.  She  told  me  about 
that  letter  you  wrote  about  Tom.  Those  two  girls 
saw  right  through  that  whole  performance.  You're 
nothing  but  an  ostrich,  with  your  head  in  the  sand, 
thinking  because  your  foolish  top  is  out  of  sight,  your 
unco  tall  body  is  too — and  the  two  lassies  standing  by, 
laughing. 

"  But  there's  one  thing  Julia  don't  like.  There's  a 
man  she  calls  '  the  Fraser  man '  hanging  around  there 
too  much.  He's  Dick  Leavenworth's  manager.  He 
spends  every  Saturday  night  and  Sunday  in  that  town. 
I  don't  know  what  he  is,  but  Julia  don't  like  him,  and 
I've  picked  that  girl  out  for  you.  If  you  let  that  man 
make  off  with  her,  I'll  never  let  you  preach  in 
Duqueboro. 

"  Run  down  the  river,  lad.  Don't  go  talking  about 
love,  and  laying  your  heart  at  her  feet,  and  all  such 
nonsense.  Just  tell  her  Davie  Henderson  sent  you 
down  to  marry  her,  and  have  done  with  it.  Then 
obey  the  Book,  and  shake  off  the  dust  of  your  feet 
against  Greenton — or  I  should  say  snow,  I  doubt.  Tell 
Harfis  I'm  robbing  him  of  a  preacher  that  you  may 
fulfill  the  Scriptures,  for  how  could  you  '  go  into  all 
the  world  and  preach  the  gospel,'  if  you  staid  in  that 


THREE  LETTERS  209 

little  country  town  ?  Tell  the  infidel  I'm  evening  up 
with  him  now  for  tipping  me  into  the  water.  We'll 
console  him  every  spring,  for  we'll  go  back  to  that 
bonnie  river,  and  I'll  show  him  how  to  cast  a  fly  so 
the  trout  will  rise.  Or,  if  you  can  get  Harfis,  and 
Jimmie  MacKaughton,  and  Bob,  and  Wendell,  all  to 
come  with  you,  we'll  make  'em  all  elders  in  Kir 
Jear. 

"  Come  on,  now.  Get  together  your  congregation  ; 
call  your  presbytery  ;  ask  for  your  dissolution  ;  make 
your  church  call  Joe  Smith  ;  and  everybody'll  be  happy. 
That's  all  now. 

"  DAVID  HENDEKSON." 

My  first  move  after  receiving  this  remarkable  letter 
was  to  drive  to  Salisbury,  the  county  seat,  to  see  Jim 
Garvey.  Not  much  persuasion  was  required  to  induce 
the  sheriff  to  let  me  see  his  prisoner  alone.  Jim  was 
full  of  joy  at  sight  of  me.  I  said  to  him  : 

"  Garvey,  when  you  leave  this  jail  I  will  not  be  in 
Greenton.  But  Jimmie  MacNaughton  and  Mr.  Harfis 
and  Mr.  Wendell,  and  Mr.  Hazeltine  will  be  there,  and 
there  will  be  a  new  preacher  in  my  place  who's  a  better 
man  than  I  ever  was,  for  he  knows  all  about  drunks 
and  toughs  generally." 

To  which  he  replied,  "  Cut  her  out,  parson.  There 
ain't  no  better  man  nor  you  be,  livin'." 

"  Thank  you  for  the  good  opinion,  Jim,"  I  said. 
"  But  I'm  telling  you  the  truth,  and  you'll  say  so, 
some  day." 

Jim  looked  more  like  a  man,  that  day,  than  ever 
before.  The  jailer  agreed  to  let  Squire  Wendell 
know  all  about  him,  and  on  what  day  next  winter  he 
would  be  discharged.  Then,  having  driven  home,  my 


270  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

next  duty  was  to  tell  Tim  Wendell  of  all  that  had 
occurred.  He  looked  at  me  a  moment. 

"  Dominie,"  he  said,  "  that's  a  good  call.  The  time 
comes  to  almost  every  minister  when  he  has  to  change 
his  field  of  labor.  That  time  has  come  to  you. 
You'll  go,  of  course.  But  I  tell  you,  and  I  hope  you'll 
remember  some  day  that  I  said  it,  you're  going  away 
from  home.  There's  not  another  Greenton  River  in 
the  Union.  There's  not  another  Bob  Hazeltine  and 
Charlie.  There's  not  another  Jimmie  MacNaughton. 

There's  not "  But  before  he  went  any  further,  I 

rose  and  grasped  his  hand.  I  said,  "  You've  been  a 
good  friend  to  me,  and  what  you  have  said  is  all  true, 
but  you  have  not  said  it  all :  there's  not  another  Tim 
Wendell  on  earth." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  minutes.  Then  Tim 
said,  "  But,  Dominie,  it's  probably  best,  and  we'll  call 
Joe  Smith  for  our  pastor.  There's  only  one  Joe 
Smith,  and  he's  the  only  man  that's  fit  to  stand  in 
your  place." 


XXIII 
ON  THE  THRESHOLD  AT  DUQUEBORO 

IT  was  the  second  Tuesday  of  April.  The  presby 
tery  had  met  that  day,  and  the  business  in  con 
nection  with  dissolving  one  pastoral  relation  and 
constituting  another  had  moved  with  such  celerity  that 
the  only  break  in  the  pastorate  of  Greenton  Church 
had  been  from  eleven  in  the  morning  until  three  in  the 
afternoon.  Presbytery  had  not  dismissed  me,  but  had 
elected  me  commissioner  to  the  General  Assembly  to 
meet  in  Grandview  in  May.  Joe  and  I  sat  together  in 
the  study. 

"  Well,  Joe,"  I  said,  "  I'm  out,  you're  in,  and  it 
seems  like  a  dream.  Do  you  remember  the  first 
address  you  made  in  the  old  church  ?  " 

"  That's  what  I  do.     It  was  the  best  I  ever  made." 

"  Yes,  in  some  respects  it  was.  But  you  are  vastly 
superior  as  a  preacher  now  to  what  you  were  then, 
and  I  think  a  career  is  beginning  for  you  here." 

"  Career  don't  bother  me,"  he  said.  "  It's  conduct 
I  am  after." 

"  Joe,  do  you  like  this  house  ?  "  I  went  abruptly  at 
the  thing  I  had  in  mind. 

"  Sure  :  I've  had  some  great  hours  in  this  house." 

"  Well,  you'll  have  more  great  hours  here,  for  here's 
where  you  and  Helen  are  going  to  live.  I've  deeded 
this  house  to  you  and  Helen." 

Joe  jumped  up  and  pulled  me  out  of  my  chair. 

271 


272  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Now  for  the  old  grip  of  the  old  fraternity,  Jack,"  he 
cried.  "  To  Helen  and  me  ?  Why,  you're  crazy,  man." 

"  No,  I'm  not.  I  want  the  church  to  remember  my 
mother  and  me.  So  this  house  is  yours  until  you 
leave  it.  When  you  go  elsewhere,  you  must  deed  it  to 
the  session — not  to  the  trustees,  but  to  the  session — 
of  Greenton  Presbyterian  Church,  to  be  used  as  a  resi 
dence  by  whoever  is  the  pastor.  All  this  is  in  the 
deed.  Should  you  fail  to  do  all  that  is  specified  in 
the  deed,  the  property  will  revert  to  me  or  my  heirs. 
But  you  cannot  alienate  it."  With  that  I  handed  him 
the  deed. 

"  But  say,  old  man,"  he  remonstrated,  "  you  can't 
afford  to  do  this." 

"  No  matter ;  I've  done  it,"  I  answered.  "  Will  you 
do  your  part  when  the  time  comes  ?  " 

"  Sure."  And  his  hearty  hand-clasp  expressed, 
better  than  halting  words,  his  sincere  thanks. 

"Then,  when  you  have  moved  in,  you  and  Helen, 
will  you  have  this  picture  hung  over  the  mantel  in  the 
dining-room  ?  "  I  stepped  across  the  room  and  drew 
away  a  drapery  from  a  window.  Leaning  against 
the  window-sill  was  an  oil  painting  of  my  mother, 
which  the  curtain  had  kept  concealed.  Joe  was  on 
his  feet  again  instantly,  and  standing  before  the 
picture. 

"  Dominie,"  he  cried,  "  that's  beautiful !  That  is  just 
as  she  looked  the  night  Elder  Harfis  and  I  had  our 
meeting." 

"  Yes,  Joe,  it's  a  good  portrait.  Now,  I  want  you 
to  hang  it  as  I  say.  The  name  by  which  this  whole 
town  knew  her  is  engraved  on  the  plate  at  the  bottom 
of  the  frame." 

Joe  stooped  and  read,  "Aunt  Caroline."     "That's 


ON  THE  THRESHOLD  AT  DUQUEBORO     273 

right,"  be  said,  "that's  what  she  was.  And  while  I 
live  here,  Aunt  Caroline  shall  look  down  on  every 
soul  that  enters  the  dining-room.  Anything  more  ?  " 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "one  thing  more,  Joe.  The 
worst  human,  or  unhuman,  that  this  town  ever  pro 
duced,  is  Jim  Garvey.  He's  in  the  county  jail  now. 
I've  given  you  the  house,  now  I'll  give  you  this 
wretch.  He'll  come  out  of  jail  next  January,  and 
Jimmie  MacNaughton's  to  meet  him  the  day  he  comes 
out,  and  bring  him  here.  The  last  place  he  slept, 
before  he  went  to  jail,  was  my  spare  room.  The  first 
place  in  which  he's  to  sleep,  after  he  comes  out  of  jail, 
must  be  that  spare  room.  Helen  won't  like  that,"  I 
went  on,  "  but  it's  what  I  want.  You  do  that,  and 
you'll  have  one  more  star  in  your  crown,  Joe,  for  I'm 
convinced  that  it  will  be  the  last  thing  necessary  to 
bring  him  to  righteousness.  That  room  saw  him.  take 
his  first  steps  toward  God.  That  room  may  be  the 
place  where  he  will  take  the  final  steps  toward  God. 
Will  you  do  it,  Joe  ?  " 

"  Yes,  old  boy,  I'll  do  it.  But  you  are  away  beyond 
me  with  your  Toms  and  your  Jims." 

"  I  think,  Joe,  you  can  save  him,"  I  answered. 
"  Harfis  and  Wendell,  Bob  and  MacNaughton,  are  a 
committee  to  look  after  him,  with  you  as  chairman. 
They  understand  already."  Then  I  told  him  the  whole 
story,  and  ended  by  asking,  "  Will  you  undertake  the 
trust,  Joe  ?  "  And  the  great-hearted  fellow  cried  in 
answer,  "  Yes,  yes,  yes ;  I'll  undertake  the  trust." 

Major  Ardman  met  me  at  the  station  on  my  arrival 
in  Duqueboro.  "  You  are  going  to  be  our  guest  for 
a  while,"  he  explained.  "  Felix  will  be  married  next 
week,  and  Mrs.  Ardman  says  she  wants  company. 


274  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

You'll  stay  until  after  General  Assembly."  So,  com 
fortably  housed,  I  began  a  long  and  happy  pastoral 
life. 

The  wedding  was  like  all  such  affairs.  There  was 
much  bustle  of  preparation,  much  coming  and  going, 
much  fluttering  among  the  young  people,  and  at  last 
it  was  over.  The  central  point  of  interest  in  it  for  me 
was  not  the  bride.  As  I  said  the  solemn  service,  my 
thoughts  were  busy  with  the  radiant  figure  of  the 
bride's  maid  of  honor;  but  I  could  not  get  the  view 
of  her  loveliness  that  I  had  enjoyed  at  St.  David's. 
My  eyes  were  perforce  fixed  on  Julia  and  Felix.  For 
two  whole  days  I  had  been  in  and  out  at  the  Hen 
derson  home,  but  had  hardly  the  satisfaction  of  a 
word  with  her.  She  was  almost  as  distant  in  manner 
as  at  any  time  in  the  past  two  years.  But  just  as 
good-nights  were  being  said  by  the  guests,  after  Felix 
and  Julia  had  gone,  she  advanced  with  a  word  to  me. 
"  I  would  like  very  much  to  talk  with  you  about 
Tom,"  she  said. 

"  Does  that  mean  I  may  call  before  you  go  home  ?  " 
I  made  haste  to  answer. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied, "  but  you'll  have  to  call  to-morrow, 
if  at  all,  for  I  start  for  home  the  next  day." 

But  to  make  that  call  before  the  evening  of  the  next 
day  was  impossible.  The  preparation  necessary  for 
my  first  prayer-meeting  with  the  new  church  wholly 
engrossed  me.  When  the  hour  for  that  arrived,  there 
came  with  it  a  clear  realization  that  Wendell  had 
spoken  the  truth  when  he  said,  "  You  are  going  away 
from  home."  My  case  was  one  of  unmistakable  home 
sickness  in  that  meeting,  my  embarrassment  being 
increased  by  the  presence  of  the  girl  with  Henderson. 
I  was  glad  she  was  there ;  yet,  at  the  same  time,  I 


ON  THE  THRESHOLD  AT  DUQUEBORO      2V5 

wished  her  far  away.  Nothing  of  that  service  remains 
in  my  memory,  save  Henderson's  speech  just  before 
the  close.  "  We  have  a  new  pastor,"  he  said  in  his 
abrupt  way,  "  and  new  pastors  dinna  come  every  night, 
I  doot.  Good  new  pastors  are  as  scarce  as  black 
berries  in  January.  But  be  our  new  one  guid  or  bad, 
there's  only  ae  thing  to  do  by  him,  that's  to  stand  by 
him.  I  shall  stand  by  him.  I  always  stand  by  my 
pastor,  right  or  wrang,  especially  if  he's  right." 

Henderson  and  the  maid  of  honor  and  I  walked 
down  the  street  together.  At  his  door,  Henderson 
said,  "  I'll  leave  you  young  things  to  yer  loneselves ; 
I've  business  for  a  while."  As  we  passed  into  the 
parlor,  the  realization  came  over  me  that  this  was  the 
first  time,  in  more  than  two  years  of  acquaintance, 
that  we  two  had  been  alone  together  as  friends.  She 
began  the  conversation  at  once. 

"  I  somewhat  expected  you  this  afternoon,  since 
you  were  good  enough  to  say  last  night  you  would 
like  to  talk  with  me  about  Tom." 

There  was  finesse  in  that  speech.  She  put  the 
burden  of  that  interview  off  on  me  in  an  exceedingly 
clever  way,  though  it  was  she  herself  who  had  pro 
posed  talking  about  Tom. 

I  said  nothing  of  what  I  thought,  however,  but 
replied,  "  Yes,  I'm  glad  you  have  given  me  an  oppor 
tunity  to  talk  about  Tom.  But  parish  matters  occu 
pied  me  so,  that  until  after  the  meeting  it  was  impos 
sible  to  give  any  time  even  to  so  interesting  a  subject. 
But  I  am  yours  now,  to  hear  whatever  interests  you, 
for  it  will  surely  interest  me." 

"  You  discovered  Tom,  you  know,  or  he  discovered 
you,"  she  said.  "  Your  story,  told  that  Sunday  night 
last  December  to  Julia  and  me,  made  such  a  deep 


276  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

impression  that  I  would  have  visited  Tom  anyway, 
had  you  not  written  me  about  him.  But  I  wondered 
whether  you  had  forgotten  him  by  this  time." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  haven't  forgotten  him,  but  I've  been 
very  much  taken  up  with  preparations  for  removing 
from  Greenton." 

"  I  know  you  must  have  been  busy,"  she  said,  "  but 
we  can  talk  a  little  about  Tom  now,  can  we  not  ?  I 
want  to  talk  about  him." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  I'll  talk  about  him  gladly  ;  or 
rather  I'll  hear  you  talk  about  him." 

"  The  first  month  he  came  to  the  class  I  didn't  know 
what  to  do,"  she  began.  "  He  could  not  learn.  The 
other  boys  considered  him  a  joke,  and  when  they 
laughed  at  his  efforts  he  would  relapse  into  absolute 
silence. 

"  I  decided  to  take  them,  one  at  a  time,  to  his  house, 
and  show  them  how  and  where  he  lived.  After  that, 
they  didn't  laugh  much.  They  helped." 

"  Does  he  learn  the  Golden  Texts  yet  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Yes,  he  has  accomplished  that.  The  first  time  he 
recited  one  correctly,  and  I  praised  him,  there  came  to 
his  face  the  first  look  of  self-satisfaction  that  probably 
ever  crossed  it.  That  made  me  very  happy.  I  came 
very  near  writing  to  you  about  that." 

"  I  wish  you  had,"  I  said  earnestly. 

It  was  delightful  to  watch  her  face  as  she  continued. 
Her  flashing  eyes  and  changing  color  were  so  charm 
ing  that  to  keep  my  lips  from  uttering  what  my 
pounding  heart  was  forging  on  love's  anvil,  was  almost 
impossible.  When  at  last  she  paused,  I  said,  "  You 
have  been  doing  a  great  work,  and  it  will  bear  fruit. 
Tom  will  be  a  means  of  grace  to  those  other  boys,  or 
J  am  mistaken.  But  do  you  think  he  has  any  compre- 


OX  THE  THRESHOLD  AT  DUQUEBORO  277 

heiision  of  what  the  mission  school  means  ?  Does  he 
care  for  the  things  you  teach  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  I  think  so.  But  I  am  often  puzzled. 
There  cannot  be  much  comprehension  when  he  recites 
a  text  as  he  did  once,  '  The  Lord  wrote  spectacle 
mirrors  by  the  hands  of  Paul.'  ' 

"  That  was  funny.  How  did  you  keep  from  laugh- 
ing?" 

"Oh,  I've  learned  not  to,"  she  replied.  "The  boys 
did  laugh,  in  spite  of  me,  when  he  said,  '  Blessed  is 
that  servant  whom  his  Lord  when  he  cometh  shall 
find  washing.'  But  I  said,  '  Boys,  that  is  one  of  the 
best  texts  Tom  has  ever  learned.  See  how  clean  his 
hands  are  to-day,'  and  the  smile  that  passed  over  the 
poor  fellow's  face  was  lovely  to  see." 

"  Your  story  reminds  me  of  one  a  friend  of  mine 
told  me  once  about  an  uneducated  preacher  among 
the  mountains  of  Kentucky.  He  was  preaching  against 
the  game  of  marbles  as  played  by  the  boys.  He 
insisted  that  it  was  very  demoralizing,  teaching  them 
to  gamble,  and  further  than  that  he  declared  it  was 
contrary  to  the  Scriptures,  for  the  Book  of  God  says, 
'  Marble  not.' " 

"We  both  laughed  heartily,  and  then  our  talk  drifted 
to  the  deeper  spiritual  needs  of  poor  Tom.  I  said  all 
I  could  to  aid  her  in  her  purpose  to  help  Tom,  and  her 
outspoken  appreciation  made  me  very  happy. 

"  You  have  comforted  me  greatly,"  she  cried.  "  I 
will  go  back  to  the  mission  with  a  purpose  to  wake 
Tom  to  conscious  need  of  Christ.  I  think  he  already 
feels  that  need,  though  I  can't  quite  tell.  But  I  am 
under  lasting  obligations  to  you.  You  will  be  in 
Grandview  at  the  General  Assembly,  Mr.  Henderson 
says,  and  I  hope  you'll  visit  the  mission.  I  want  you 


278  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

to  see  Tom — perhaps  you'll  see  a  greater  change  in 
him  than  I  do,  and  you  may  then  be  able  to  tell  what 
further  to  do." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  can  tell  you  what  to  do 
further  in  that  direction,"  was  my  answer.  But  my 
thought  was,  "  I  can  tell  you  easily  enough  what  I 
wish  you  would  do  in  another  direction."  And  then, 
in  fear  lest  my  tongue  should  get  the  better  of  my 
judgment,  I  said  good-night  and  good-bye. 


XXIV 

GRANDVIEW  ONCE  MORE 

HENDERSON  and  Major  and  Mrs.  Ardman 
stood  with  me  at  the  Twenty-second  street 
pier  in  New  York.  General  Assembly  was 
to  convene  next  day  in  Grandview,  and  we  were  wait 
ing  for  the  boat  that  would  carry  us  to  our  destina 
tion. 

"  An'  ye  never  rode  on  the  Mary  Powell  ?  " 

"  No,  I  never  did." 

"  Man,  yer  education  was  neglected,  I  doot.  I'm 
only  an  American  since  my  boyhood,  but  I've  made 
the  trip.  The  Rhine  is  finer  after  ye  pass  Coblentz. 
Her  banks  have  had  the  touch  of  the  human  hand 
longer.  But  there's  no  Mary  Powell  on  the  Rhine." 

Henderson  knew  how  to  touch  the  vibrant  chord  in 
a  human  heart. 

Every  Hudson  River  dweller  loves  the  old  boat  as 
if  it  were  his  own.  Presently  she  hove  in  sight,  grace 
ful  as  a  swan.  She  came  alongside  the  pier  and  we 
went  aboard.  So  quick  and  quiet  were  the  stop  and 
start,  her  movement  seemed  almost  automatic.  I  said 
to  the  Major,  "  I  half  believe  this  boat  could  start  and 
make  the  run  and  all  the  landings  from  force  of 
habit,  if  there  were  never  a  man  in  her  crew.  Do  you 
suppose  boats  have  souls,  Major  ?"  No  answer  was 
expected  to  that  question,  but  Henderson  had  heard  it. 

"  Losh,  man,"  he  said,  "  are  ye  daft  ere  ye  reach 
279 


280  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

Grandview  ?  What'll  ye  be  when  ye  get  there  and 
see  yon  girl  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  going  to  see  any  girl,"  I  replied.  "  I'm  a 
commissioner  to  the  Assembly,  and  that  will  take  all 
my  time." 

"  But  the  Assembly  doesna  meet  till  the  morrow, 
and  what's  to  hinder  seein'  the  girl  the  night  ?  " 

"  Only  this :  when  she  was  at  your  house,  she 
spoke  about  my  seeing  that  boy  Tom  at  the  mission 
on  Sunday,  but  she  did  not  ask  me  to  see  her.  And  I 
can't  call  until  I'm  invited."  And  there  Mrs.  Ardman 
relieved  me. 

"  Mr.  Henderson,"  she  said,  "  I  want  Mr.  Haynes  to 
go  with  me  to  the  bow.  The  view  is  far  too  lovely  to 
waste  time  in  talk." 

We  were  fortunate  to  get  two  chairs  very  close  to 
the  bow.  The  afternoon  was  perfect.  Far  over  us  in 
the  azure  floated  the  great  air-ships,  God's  wondrous 
clouds,  each  laden  with  a  precious  freight  of  water  for 
a  thirsting  earth,  and  each  sailing  across  and  ever 
across  the  vast  space-ocean  from  horizon  to  horizon, 
the  distant  view  dimmed  by  the  dreamy  haziness  of 
budding  spring.  May  is  the  greatest  impressionist 
painter  of  them  all.  How  the  bow  cut  the  water ! 
The  severed  edges  of  the  liquid  surface  swept  back 
ward  until  the  brawling  paddle-wheels  tore  them, 
broke  them,  scattered  them,  and  strewed  the  frag 
ments,  beaten  flecks  of  foam,  in  the  long  wake  of  the 
swift  steamer.  Past  the  piers  with  their  noisy  life, 
past  the  craft  of  various  names,  past  the  long  rows  of 
buildings,  past  Spuyten  Duyvil,  past  the  green  shores, 
past  Tarrytown  where  poor  Major  Andre  paid  the 
penalty  of  too  great  fidelity  to  a  government  that 
would  stoop  to  potter  with  a  traitor,  past  Sing  Sing, 


GRANDVIEW  ONCE  MORE  281 

with  its  frowning  walls  and  their  aggregation  of  lost 
souls,  the  staunch  vessel  held  her  way,  while  each 
rood  left  behind  made  one  rood  less  between  me  and 
the  woman  in  whom  my  life  hopes  were  centred,  for 
I  knew  I  should  see  her,  though  I  had  put  Henderson's 
suggestion  aside.  That  afternoon  ride  was  a  poem 
vastly  more  beautiful  because  wordless.  Both  the 
lady  and  I  had  grown  silent  under  the  spell  of  boat 
and  sky  and  river  and  mountain.  It  was  Mrs.  Ard- 
man  who  first  spoke.  "Was  ever  anything  more 
beautiful  ?"  she  said.  Before  I  could  answer,  Hender 
son  came  bustling  up.  "  Come  awa',  man.  Ye're 
wastin'  time,  dronin'  here.  Was  ye  never  in  a  boat 
before,  man  ?  There's  commissioners  on  the  boat. 
Acquaintance  is  everything  to  a  new  man.  Ye  hae 
no  met  Dr.  Sandwich,  I  doot."  His  voice  was  cheery, 
but  my  reply  was  gruff  :  "  No  !  I  haven't.  And  that 
I  do  not  want  to  meet  him  just  now,  don't  doubt. 
Leave  Mrs.  Ardman  and  me  to  enjoy  our  poem  for  a 
little  time  longer.  I'll  see  all  the  men  I  want  to  see 
to-morrow." 

"  Your  poem  ?  Losh,  man,  are  ye  daft  ?  Ye're 
no  readin' — ye've  no  a  buik.  Come  awa',  man. 
Let  sic  folly  go.  Come  awa'  and  see  the  Doctor." 
With  that,  he  seized  my  arm  and  carried  me  reluctant 
away. 

Dr.  Sandwich  was  from  the  West.  He  was  a  little, 
weazen-faced  man,  dark  and  wiry.  When  I  had  been 
introduced  to  him,  and  he  spoke,  his  voice  astonished 
me  more  than  his  appearance.  It  was  hollow  and 
sepulchral,  sounding  as  one  would  imagine  a  skeleton's 
voice  might.  There  are  times  when  bows,  hand 
shakings,  and  the  words  which  follow  presentations 
are  safety  valves  for  laughter.  This  was  one  of  those 


282  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

times,  though  fears  filled  me  lest  the  Doctor  should 
see  that  my  bow  and  my  words  were  tinctured  with 
amusement.  Henderson  saw  the  thoughts  in  my 
mind,  and  took  charge  of  the  situation. 

"  Come,  Doctor,"  he  said.  "  Come,  pastor  ;  let's  go 
to  a  quieter  spot.  We  can  talk  better  apart  from  the 
throng,  I  doot." 

I  agreed  eagerly,  adding,  "  Let's  go  to  the  bow  ;  it's 
quiet  there,  and  lovely."  My  thought  was, "  Henderson 
and  Dr.  Sandwich  will  do  the  talking,  and  I  will  have 
another  taste  of  my  poem." 

But  that  bliss  was  denied.  Henderson's  first  words 
were  addressed  to  me.  "  I  suppose  ye  ken  that 
Dr.  Sandwich  is  a  candidate  for  moderator  o'  the 
General  Assembly  ?" 

How  to  answer  was  the  problem.  Dr.  Sandwich 
and  his  candidacy  were  as  unknown  to  me  as  the 
Choctaw  language  to  King  Solomon.  But  to  say  that 
•would  doubtless  give  offense.  So  I  answered,  as  I 
thought,  with  tact,  "  The  ambition  to  be  moderator 
has  always  seemed  to  me  laudable  —  The  Doctor 

was  about  to  reply,  but  Henderson  was  too  quick  for 
him. 

"  Losh,  man,  what  has  ambition  to  do  with  it  ? 
There's  nothing  laudable  aboot  ambition.  It's  shakin' 
the  tree,  and  gettin'  the  plum,  that's  laudable. 
There'll  be  many  candidates,  I  doot.  I  carena  for  the 
candidates.  It's  the  man  who  gets  there,  I  like. 
Most  of  the  candidates  will  be  cant-didates,  I  doot." 

I  looked  at  my  elder  in  amazement.  He  had  never 
before  attempted  a  pun  in  my  presence.  Curiosity  as 
to  how  the  Doctor  would  take  it  filled  me,  but  was 
satisfied  quickly.  The  deep,  skeleton  voice  replied, 
"  You  mistake,  sir,  about  my  being  a  candidate.  I  am 


GRANDVIEW  ONCE  MORE  283 

not  one,  in  any  individual  sense.  My  friends  are  the 
real  candidates.  My  synod  and  my  presbytery  are 
the  real  candidates.  They  wish  the  honor  for  the 
good  it  will  do  the  cause  of  Christ  in  the  section  from 
which  I  come.  For  that  reason  I  should  like  your 
vote,  Doctor — ah — Doctor — ah 

I  came  to  the  rescue  of  his  short  memory. 

"  Let  the  titles  go,  Dr.  Sandwich,"  I  said.  "  I'm 
no  doctor.  I'm  plain  John  Haynes.  I've  never  been 
to  a  General  Assembly.  You  honor  me  by  asking  me 
to  support  you,  and  if  there  are  no  other  candidates,  I 
will  gladly  - 

"  Hoot,  man !  to  gie  sic  an  answer  as  that  to  the 
Doctor  !  Of  coorse  there  will  be  ither  candidates,  and 
they'll  a'  be  like  him,  not  candidates  as  individuals, 
but  only  as  representin'  the  desires  o'  their  freends. 
Can't  ye  see  ?  It's  a  peety  for  the  Assembly,  I  wad 
be  thinkin'." 

Henderson  had  made  many  speeches  during  our 
acquaintance,  but  never  one  like  that.  It  was  so 
shrewd  a  mixture  of  banter  and  earnest,  and  satire 
that  I  found  it  difficult  to  keep  a  straight  face. 

Dr.  Sandwich,  too,  looked  somewhat  puzzled  ;  but 
Avhen  he  spoke  he  only  said,  "  Well,  Mr.  Haynes,  your 
elder  has  told  me  you  are  a  fine  speaker,  and  if,  when 
you  have  learned  who  the  other  candidates  are — for 
that  is  what  your  answer  means,  I  suppose;  you  want 
to  know  who  are  the  candidates  ere  you  decide — if 
after  that  you  decide  to  support  me," — he  hesitated, 
cleared  his  throat,  then  went  on,  "  I  shall  be  delighted 
to  have  you  second  my  nomination.  The  Rev.  Dr. 
Blough,  of  my  own  synod,  will  nominate  me.  I 
understand  you  are  in  the  Assembly  as  a  commissioner 
from  the  Synod  of  New  York,  and  my  friends  would 


284:  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

deem  it  most  effective  to  have  the  Synods  of  Illinois 
and  New  York  united  in  the  nomination  — 

Just  then  relief  came.  The  ship's  bell  began  to  toll 
for  her  landing  at  West  Point.  Excusing  myself  and 
finding  Mrs.  Ardman,  we  went  back  to  our  place  in 
the  bow.  No  Sandwiches  nor  aught  else  could  get 
me  away  from  that  outlook.  Into  the  lower  gate  of 
the  Highlands  we  sped,  and  through  those  waters  so 
sublimely  environed  by  Dunderberg  and  Cro'  Nest, 
and  the  lower  Beacon  Mountains.  Then  out  at  the 
north  gate  and  into  Grand  view  Bay,  where  away  above 
sparkled  the  early  lights  of  the  city,  which  to  me  was 
Mecca,  though  my  feet  were  bent  toward  no  dead 
prophet's  tomb,  but  the  earthly  paradise  of  a  living  angel. 

Henderson  came  up  as  we  watched  the  city,  now  so 
very  near,  and  with  one  of  his  indescribable  looks 
said,  "  Did  ye  like  the  sample  I  produced  for  ye  of  the 
ways  o'  the  candidates  ?  That  was  only  a  nibble  ye 
had.  Wait  for  the  morrow,  lad.  Ye'll  have  a  guid 
bite  before  the  noonday.  But  I  gave  ye  a  leetle 
experience,  I  doot." 

I  spent  the  evening  on  the  roof  of  the  Balustrade, 
enjoying  the  wonderful  view  from  the  parapet  of  the 
roof  pavilion.  Just  before  bedtime  Henderson  came 
up.  "An'  it's  here  ye  are — hidin'  frae  guid  company. 
I  thought  ye  had  gone  to  the  Terrace  until  I  saw  Mr. 
Dick.  He  said  ye  werena  there.  Ye  said  ye  wadna 
go  till  asked  to  ca',  but  I  didna  think  ye  were  so  silly 
as  to  mean  it." 

"  Well,  I  shall  not  go  until  I  am  invited,"  I  said. 

"  Hoot,  man  !  Must  I  go  an'  bring  her  to  the 
Balustrade,  so  she  can  say,  '  Won't  ye  please  ca',  Mr. 
Haynes  ? '  " 


GRAND  VIEW  ONCE  MORE  285 

"  Elder,  when  you  fish  for  trout,  do  you  expect 
anyone  to  ask,  '  Shall  I  bring  you  the  trout  on  a 
platter  ? '  ere  you  get  your  rod  together  and  your  tackle 
hung  ?  " 

Slapping  me  on  the  back,  he  cried,  "  Lad,  ye'll  do. 
But  get  the  rod  jointed  an'  the  tackle  hung, 
quick." 

The  General  Assembly  was  organized  next  day. 
Dr.  Sandwich  was  not  chosen  moderator.  Everything 
moved  in  what  I  have  since  learned  is  the  cut-and- 
dried  way.  But  there  was  one  feature  which  only 
Grandview  could  give:  that  was  the  Saturday  afternoon 
excursion  to  West  Point  by  boat,  and  the  return  by 
moonlight.  Joe  Smith  had  come  down  from  Greenton, 
bringing  Helen,  of  course ;  and  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Eraser, 
with  Joe  and  Helen  for  aids,  had  planned  the  whole 
affair.  Whatever  these  four  undertook  was  sure  to  be 
well  done,  and  probably  no  General  Assembly  ever  had 
a  more  hilarious  time  than  was  ours  that  afternoon 
after  the  battalion  drill  of  the  cadets  was  done,  and 
the  commissioners  and  their  hosts,  the  Grandview 
ladies,  had  sat  down  to  a  basket  lunch.  Alice  Leaven- 
worth,  Helen,  Joe  and  I  had  our  lunch  together.  In 
the  midst  of  the  good  time,  Helen,  turning  abruptly 
to  me,  said  : 

"  Joe  tells  me  you  are  to  speak  to-morrow  night." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Henderson  is  to  blame  for  that,  I 
suppose." 

"  Where  will  you  speak  ?  "  asked  the  maid  of  honor. 

"  At  the  Assembly  church,"  I  answered.  "  They  call 
the  night  '  Experience  Night,'  and  I'm  to  tell  the  story 
of  the  Greenton  revival." 

"  Oh,  I'm  glad,"  said  Helen.  "  Out  of  that  revival 
came  my  Joe  and  all  my  happiness." 


286  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Will  your  preparation  keep  you  from  the  mission 
in  the  afternoon  ?  "  inquired  the  maid  of  honor. 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  was  my  answer. 

"  Then  I'm  glad,"  said  she,  "  for  I  want  you  to  see 
Tom.  You  men  in  the  Assembly  seem  so  busy  that 
I  was  beginning  to  fear  you  would  not  see  Tom  at  all." 

As  we  were  talking,  David  Henderson  passed. 
"  Engaged,  Dominie,  I  doot.  If  ye're  no,  I  wad  talk 
wi'  ye." 

"  No,  I'm  not  engaged,"  I  answered. 

"  Come  awa',  then.  But,  Alice,  lass,  ere  I  go,  will 
ye  have  an  old  man's  escort  to  the  great  meetin'  the 
morrow  nicht  ?  There'll  be  guid  speakin',  I  doot." 
She  accepted  his  courtesy,  and  having  excused  myself, 
I  went  away  with  Henderson. 

I  saw  no  more  of  the  maid  of  honor  until  just  before 
starting  for  Grand  view.  Then,  to  my  amazement,  she 
was  walking  toward  the  boat  landing  with  Bruce 
Fraser.  As  we  met  he  gave  a  careless  nod,  but  she 
passed  without  a  sign  of  recognition. 

There  was  no  more  peace  for  me.  When  we  landed 
at  Grand  view,  I  saw  him  take  the  maid  of  honor  in  a 
carriage  and  disappear  in  the  darkness. 

To  say  I  had  a  sleepless  night  would  be  false.  No 
care,  no  sorrow  could  keep  the  gentle  goddess  from 
folding  me  to  her  breast  when  the  hour  for  her  sway 
had  come. 

Sunday  afternoon  was  spent  partly  at  the  mission, 
and  partly  in  walking  home  with  Tom,  who  had  im 
proved  in  a  very  noticeable  manner.  He  would  not 
yet  talk  much,  but  it  was  very  plain  that  he  appreciated 
the  things  that  had  been  done  for  him.  My  talk  to 
him  was  along  the  line  of  helping  others.  The  story 


GRANDVIEW  ONCE  MORE  28T 

of  the  man  with  one  talent  interested  him  greatly. 
"  Jesus  wants  effort,  Tom,  not  results,"  I  said.  "  When 
He  asks  you  some  day,  '  What  did  you  do  with  your 
talent  ? '  if  you  can  say,  '  I  did  my  best,'  He  will  say, 
'  Well  done.'  For,  Tom,  all  that  a  man  can  do  is  his 
best  and  Jesus  knows  that." 

He  took  that  in,  and  was  turning  it  over  in  his 
mind.  But  when  I  asked  him  if  he  would  try  to  do 
his  best  for  Jesus,  he  said,  "  I  dunno,"  in  a  manner  and 
tone  which  made  me  understand  how  that  short  answer 
had  almost  paralyzed  the  maid  of  honor. 

She  had  been  in  the  mission  that  afternoon,  and  I 
had  been  privileged  to  lead  and  to  speak  briefly.  She 
had  listened  with  a  face  that  was  unreadable.  As 
Tom  and  I  passed  through  the  vestibule,  where  she 
had  preceded  us,  I  told  her  that  I  was  going  home 
with  Tom.  She  answered,  "I  am  glad  of  that.  But 
shall  we  not  see  you  at  our  house  also  ?  It  would 
please  mother  greatly." 

"  Present  my  compliments  to  your  mother.  It  will 
give  me  great  pleasure  to  be  in  your  home  again.  But 
my  days  are  quite  occupied,  and  I  presume  you  attend 
the  popular  meetings  in  the  evenings." 

"I  shall  not  go  out  to-morrow  evening,"  she 
answered. 

"  No  ?  Then  I'll  come  to-morrow  night,"  I  said,  and 
putting  my  arm  through  Tom's,  walked  away. 

As  I  rose  to  speak  that  night,  my  eyes  roved  over  the 
house  in  search  of  Henderson  and  the  maid  of  honor, 
but  they  were  hidden  somewhere  by  one  of  the  great 
stone  columns.  Major  and  Mrs.  Ardman  were  close 
to  the  platform,  and  they  waited  for  me  after  the 
meeting  ended.  As  I  walked  down  the  aisle,  I  passed 


288  THE  MAID  OF  HONOK 

Bruce  Fraser.  To  speak  with  him  was  only  a  gentle 
man's  part. 

"  How's  old  Sinclair  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  He  was  well  at  last  reports." 

"Mrs.  Sinclair  didn't  seem  to  have  much  luck  trying 
to  tie  you  to  her  maid  of  honor,  did  she  ? "  There 
was  a  sneer  in  his  tone,  and  beer  on  his  breath. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do.  Do  you  suppose  anyone  will 
believe  that  story  you  told  to-night  ?  " 

"  Yes,  every  man  that  knows  me  will  believe  it,"  I 
answered. 

"  Well,  I  know  you,  and  I  don't  believe  it." 

"  I'm  sorry  you  don't  believe  it,  but  none  the  less  it 
is  true.  Don't  let's  quarrel,  Mr.  Fraser." 

"  All  right.  You  keep  away  from  the  Terrace  and 
we  won't,"  he  said,  and  slipped  away  into  the  night. 

As  I  went  through  the  vestibule,  a  familiar  voice 
said: 

"  Ye're  too  proud  wi'  your  fine  talk  to  look  at  ordi 
nary  mortals,  I  doot."  Turning,  I  confronted  the 
Scotchman  and  the  girl. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  too  very  tired,"  she  said.  "  But 
if  you  are,  the  address  was  worth  the  cost." 

Sleep  was  hard  to  woo  that  night,  but  she  yielded  to 
me  at  last,  and  as  we  went  together  into  dreamland,  a 
gentle  voice  seemed  to  say, "  But  if  you  are,  the  address 
was  worth  the  cost." 


XXV 

PERIL  SURPRISES  LOVE 

THAT  Monday  night  was  clear,  warm,  balmy, 
with  fragrance  of  lilacs  and  May  flowers  on 
the  air.  The  eastern  veranda  of  Mrs.  Leav 
en  worth's  home  commanded  a  full  view  of  the  river 
and  mountains.  To  that  veranda  we  went  presently, 
and  under  the  witchery  of  the  moonlight  all  formality 
vanished,  and  the  conversation  flowed  now  smoothly, 
now  rippling  with  laughter. 

Our  talk  turned  to  the  drives  about  Grandview. 
Mr.  Kichard  Leavenworth  advised  me  not  to  leave  the 
city  without  a  sight  of  the  beautiful  surrounding  coun 
try.  "  You  may  never  see  this  locality  at  close  range 
again,"  he  said.  To  take  his  cue  was  easy. 

"  Nothing  could  be  more  enjoyable,"  I  declared. 
"  If  I  can  get  an  afternoon  for  such  pleasure,  I  surely 
will.  Of  course  you  have  good  horses  in  Grandview." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  good  horses ,  fine ,  the  summer  people 
make  that  necessary." 

"  Well,  then,  Mrs.  Leavenworth,  shall  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  a  drive  with  you  and  Miss  Leavenworth? 
I  will  be  glad  to  have  you  show  me  this  lovely 
country." 

"  Mr.  Haynes,  there  are  two  parts  to  your  question," 
the  mother  answered.  "To  one  of  them  I  can  reply 
very  quickly.  But  first  I  must  ask  another.  Are  you 
familiar  with  horses  ?  " 

"Ask  Mr.  Henderson,"  I  replied.  "He  has  had  me 
289 


290  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

fur  driver.     I  am,  or  was,  a  country  lad,  and  Greenton 
is  famous  for  its  horses." 

"  Then,"  said  she,  "  I  can  answer  my  part  of  your 
question  easily.  I  am  too  old  to  bear  so  long  a  drive 
as  you  young  people  might  like  to  take.  So  I  think  I 
must  decline.  But  my  daughter  can  answer  for 
herself." 

Whereupon  I  turned  to  the  maid  of  honor.  "  Miss 
Leaven  worth,"  I  said,  "  will  you  act  as  escort  for  me 
for  a  drive,  some  afternoon  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  will  be  escort,  if  you  wish,"  she  said, 
emphasizing  "  escort."  So  I  set  Saturday  for  the 
drive. 

After  that  our  conversation  drifted  along  until  by 
some  chance  it  touched  on  the  scenes  of  the  Civil  War. 
Mrs.  Leavenworth  was  a  good  talker.  She  told  how 
her  two  sons  had  been  soldiers.  The  elder,  Richard, 
had  survived  the  war.  Turning  to  him  I  said,  "  You 
must  have  had  many  thrilling  experiences." 

"  Yes,  we  did  indeed."  And  then  with  deep 
earnestness  he  gave  the  story  of  the  Peninsular 
campaign  and  the  Seven  Days'  battles. 

Then  the  mother  took  up  the  story  of  her  captain 
son.  A  New  York  physician,  when  the  war  broke 
out  he  volunteered,  raised  a  company,  and  was  chosen 
captain.  Down  in  the  trenches  in  the  swamp-lands 
of  the  Chickahominy,  the  captain  had  fallen  ill  of  the 
dread  fever  that  ever  hung  on  the  flanks  of  that 
devoted  Potomac  Army.  Down  into  the  exposure  and 
horror  of  the  camp  this  gentle  woman  had  gone,  to 
battle  with  death  for  the  life  of  her  youngest  son. 
She  had  won  in  that  fight,  and  carried  her  captain 
home  to  Grandview.  There  on  that  very  veranda, 
while  May  and  June  days  passed  all  too  swiftly,  the 


PERIL  SURPRISES  LOVE  291 

captain  regained  his  strength.  The  furlough  ended, 
he  went  back  to  the  front.  The  fierce  fighting  around 
Fredericksburg  came  on,  and  Burnside's  mine  was 
sprung,  with  awful  disaster  to  our  troops.  Among 
the  names  of  the  thousands  of  those  who  there  were 
sacrificed,  was  that  of  Captain  John  Leaven  worth. 
The  mother  had  snatched  his  life  from  the  jaws  of 
disease,  only  to  have  it  snatched  from  her  again  in  the 
moment  of  her  happiness  over  her  victory. 

"  Mr.  Haynes,"  she  said,  "  people  call  me  unpa 
triotic  and  hardened  in  spirit,  because  I  say  I  hate 
that  war.  I  hate  the  memory  of  it.  I  hate  the  men 
who  made  it,  north  and  south.  But  I  am  a  patriot ; 
I  love  my  country ;  I  love  the  soldiers  ;  I  cannot  see 
one  but  I  long  to  put  my  arms  around  him.  When 
Memorial  Day  comes  next  week,  I  shall  hang  the  old 
flag  from  my  window,  and  shall  think  with  loyal  love 
of  the  dead.  I  shall  help  lay  flowers  upon  the  graves 
of  soldiers  who  are  buried  here.  But  I  hate  war.  I 
shall  never  cease  to  hate  war." 

When  Mrs.  Leavenworth  stopped  talking,  silence 
fell  upon  us  all.  Alice  Leavenworth  was  weeping. 
But  she  was  the  one  who  finally  broke  the  silence. 
"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Haynes,"  she  said,  "for  having 
asked  you  to  call,  and  then  allowing  the  conversation 
to  take  so  sad  a  turn.  It  is  no  doubt  the  influence  of 
the  approach  of  Memorial  Day.  It  always  makes  us 
sad.  It  is  the  holiest  day,  and  the  saddest,  of 
the  year.  And  now  tell  me  what  you  think  of 
Tom." 

I  answered,  glad  for  the  opportunity  to  talk  with 
her  about  present-day  matters. 

"  I  think  there's  something  in  Tom  that  can  be 
saved.  He's  by  no  means  the  Tom  he  was  when  I 


292  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

found  him,  five  months  ago.  He  says  'I  dunno,'  yet, 
but  that's  not  a  sign  of  incapacity,  but  of  diffidence 
and  inertia." 

Her  next  question  was  a  hard  one.  "  Do  you  think 
he  is  any  better  ?  " 

"  Better  than  what  ? "  was  ray  evasive  answer. 
"  Have  you  ever  seen  any  evidence  that  he  is,  or  has 
been,  bad  ?  Measuring  him  against  other  boys  in  the 
mission,  is  he  worse  than  they  ?  " 

"  No — oh,  no  ;  not  so  bad  as  most,"  was  her  reply. 
"  I've  never  heard  him  swear.  He  has  never  been 
ill-tempered.  At  his  home  he  is  helpful  beyond  all 
expectation." 

"  Well,  then,"  I  asked  again,  "  better  than  what  ?  " 

"  I  see — I  see,"  she  made  reply.  "  '  Better  '  was 
not  the  correct  word.  But  is  he — would  you  say  he 
was  in  a  more  hopeful  condition  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  certainly  should,"  I  was  glad  to  be  able  to 
say.  "  You  have  accomplished  much  with  that  poor 
boy." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  I  wish  I  could  know  surely 
that  he  would  one  day  love  Jesus  Christ." 

"You  will  know.  A  day  will  come  when  he  will 
do  something  that  will  make  you  know.  Wait. 
Work.  Be  hopeful." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  gently,  as  I  rose  to  go. 
"  That  is  a  great  comfort."  I  left  the  ladies  sitting 
yet  upon  the  veranda.  Mr.  Leaven  worth  went  with 
me  to  the  hall  below.  "  You  must  pardon  my 
mother,"  he  said.  "  The  war  went  very  hard  with 
her." 

"  No  apology  is  needed  for  such  a  woman,"  was  my 
reply.  "  Women  like  her  did  almost  as  much  to  save 
the  Union  as  you  soldiers,  Mr.  Leavenworth." 


PERIL  SURPRISES  LOVE  293 

"That's    so,   Mr.    Haynes.     That's    so."     And    at 
parting  he  gave  me  a  very  hearty  shake  of  the  hand. 


There  must  have  been  a  ball  and  chain  attached  to 
the  feet  of  Old  Father  Time,  for  the  next  four  days 
moved  more  slowly  than  any  others  in  all  my  life. 
But  Saturday  afternoon  came  at  last,  and  at  two 
o'clock  a  carriage  and  a  pair  of  horses  were  waiting 
on  Morningside  Terrace,  at  Mrs.  Leaven  worth's  door. 
The  young  lady  was  all  ready.  Her  mother  called 
from  the  porch  as  we  were  starting,  "  Be  careful  how 
you  drive,  Mr.  Haynes :  and  Alice,  go  up  the  river 
first.  That  will  be  pleasantest." 

What  a  drive  that  was !  There  was  no  dust.  Long 
stretches  of  river  now,  and  presently  a  bit  of  wood 
land  through  which  the  road  wound  in  shade,  down 
vistas  that  would  wake  the  romance  in  a  soul  even  if 
it  were  asleep,  then  up  the  long  hill  through  Marl 
boro,  and  past  the  white  church,  we  drove.  Then 
westward  and  southward,  out  to  Fowler's  Lake, 
where  under  the  trees  by  the  shore  we  tied  the  horses 
and  left  them  while  we  wrandered  along  the  bank. 
On  an  old  mossy  log  the  maid  of  honor  sat  down, 
while  I  stood  out  by  the  edge  of  the  water,  skipping 
stones.  I  saw  fish  break  beyond  the  weeds  along  the 
margin,  and  though  I  knew  they  were  not  trout,  they 
made  me  think  of  Henderson,  and  J  asked  the  first 
question  that  came  to  my  mind. 

"  Do  you  know  Mr.  Henderson  well  ?  " 

I  did  not  look  toward  her  as  she  answered,  nor  did 
I  venture  nearer  to  that  log.  There  was  danger  in  its 
vicinity,  for  a  man  so  madly  in  love  as  I  was.  I  was 
not  ready  to  tell  the  girl  that  I  loved  her.  Henderson 


294  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

had  badgered  me  about  her  for  three  years.  What  he 
had  said  to  her  about  me,  or  what  he  had  told  Julia 
to  say,  I  had  no  means  of  knowing.  So,  when  I 
spoke  of  him,  I  dared  not  look  at  her,  lest  I  should  see 
in  her  face  something  that  might  lead  me  to  make  a 
hazard  prematurely. 

Her  reply  was  simple  enough  : 

"  Not  so  very  well — well  enough  to  know  that  he  is 
queer,  and  well  enough  to  know  that  he  is  heartily 
devoted  to  you." 

A  little  bolder  by  reason  of  the  answer,  I  asked, 
"  Does  he  speak  of  me  so  much,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  see  him  much,"  she  replied.  "  At  his 
home,  when  Julia  was  married,  he  was  chanting  your 
praises  continually.  I  thought  Mr.  Ardman — not  the 
Major — felt  piqued  that  Mr.  Henderson  should  show 
so  much  more  interest  in  you  than  in  him." 

I  had  stopped  skipping  stones  when  this  little 
colloquy  began,  and,  gathering  courage,  approached  the 
maid  of  honor's  log. 

"  May  I  sit  down  ?  "  I  asked.  She  moved  a  trifle 
to  make  room  for  me.  "  Did  Mr.  Henderson  ever  tell 
you  his  trout  story,  and  of  his  day  on  Greenton 
River  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,"  she  responded ;  "  what  was  it  ?  " 

"  I  think,  if  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll  leave  for  you  the 
pleasure  of  his  version  of  a  very  funny  incident." 

"  But  I  may  not  see  him  again,"  she  objected. 
"  You  told  me  the  Assembly  would  adjourn  Monday, 
and  you  have  wakened  my  curiosity." 

"  Oh,  }^ou'll  see  him  again.  There's  too  much  old- 
fashioned  politeness  about  him,  for  him  to  leave 
Grandview  without  saying  good-bye  to  your  mother. 
Get  him  to  tell  you  then.  Tell  him  I  told  you  to." 


PERIL  SURPRISES  LOVE  205 

"  Well,"  she  answered,  "  I  will.  Bat  do  you  know 
him  well  ?  So  very  well  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  him  better  than  I  know  any  other 
man,  save  only  Tim  Wendell  and  Joe  Smith." 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Wendell  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Of  course  I 
know  Mr.  Smith.  But  why  do  you  call  one  '  Tim,' 
and  the  other  '  Joe '  ?  Is  that  the  ministerial  way, 
with  the  men  of  their  congregations  ?  Will  you  call 
Mr.  Henderson  '  Dave,'  by  and  by  ?  " 

"  Call  Mr.  Henderson  '  Dave  '  ?  Well,  hardly  !  " 
and  I  stopped  talking  to  laugh.  "  If  I  should  address 
him  so,  he  would  roar  back,  '  Hoot,  man,  wi'  your 
Daves.  I'm  David  to  Geordie  Ardman,  but  to  no 
ither  man.'  And  for  the  other  questions,  there  are 
only  three  men  in  the  world  whom  I  call  familiarly 
by  their  nicknames  :  Harry  Sinclair  and  Tim  and  Joe. 
Harry  was  my  college  chum  for  four  years.  Joe  was 
my  classmate  and  my  fraternity  brother,  and  on  one 
or  two  occasions  was  my  champion.  And  Wendell  ? 
He's  the  best  man  in  Greenton  and  my  most  trusted 
counselor." 

"  How  did  you  make  Mr.  Henderson's  acquaint 
ance?" 

"  Has  he  never  told  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  responded.  "  You  must  remember  he 
lives  a  long  way  from  Grandview.  I  have  been  his 
guest  only  once,  and  then  we  were  all  busy  with 
Julia's  wedding.  He  was  never  in  our  house  until  he 
called  to  take  me  to  that  '  Experience  Evening.' " 

"  Well,  as  he  hasn't  told  you,  I  will.  Do  you 
remember  the  day  after  the  wedding  at  old  St. 
David's  ?  " 

"  I  can  never  forget  it."  Her  reply  was  low,  but 
I  heard  it. 


206  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

u  Homeward  bound  that  afternoon,"  I  continued, 
"  I  dropped  into  the  only  empty  seat  in  the  coach, 
beside  a  man  who  was  studying  a  Bible  and  making 
notes.  I  watched  him  too  closely,  or  too  curiously, 
for  his  liking — perhaps  he  thought  I  was  staring."  I 
chanced  that  shot,  but  she  did  not  flinch.  "  Whatever 
he  thought,  he  turned  on  me.  His  first  speech  was 
the  key-note  of  our  acquaintance." 

"  What  train  were  you  on  ?  "  she  said.  "  You  were 
bound  for  New  York,  of  course." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  was  going  to  New  York,  and  was 
on  the  two  o'clock  train." 

"  You  were  ?  "  Her  question  was  quick  and  rather 
astonished.  "  Why,  I  was  on  that  same  train." 

It  was  my  turn  to  say,  "  You  were  ?  "  So  I  said  it 
like  an  actor,  adding,  "  I  didn't  see  you  alight  in 
Jersey  City." 

"No,"  she  said.  "I  left  the  train  in  Newark. 
My  brother  Dick  lived  in  Newark  then." 

"  Yes,  I  learned  that  afterward.  For  a  long  time  I 
thought  you  lived  in  Newark,  too.  I  didn't  know  till 
that  night  on  your  porch  with  Julia,  that  you  didn't." 

"  Yes,  I  remember.  Poor  Mary  !  Mary  was  Dick's 
wife,  you  know." 

"  How  long  since  her  death  ?  "  I  asked,  as  inno 
cently  as  though  Harry  Sinclair  had  never  written 
about  it. 

"  It  was  in  the  summer  after  that  Adirondack  ride. 
She  took  cold  that  night.  It  ended  in  pneumonia. 
That  was  an  awful  ride." 

How  long  that  conversation  would  have  continued 
I  make  no  conjecture.  What  course  it  might  have 
taken,  because  of  that  last  remark,  is  not  history. 
The  maid  of  honor  started  up  suddenly,  saying,  "  My 


PERIL  SURPRISES  LOVE  297 

watch  says  four  o'clock.  "We  must  be  off,  or  late  to 
dinner.  I  told  mother  you  would  dine  with  us 
to-night.  You  will,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  with  pleasure,"  I  said,  and  went  to  unhitch 
the  horses. 

Down  the  road  toward  Grand  view  we  whirled, 
talking  but  little.  The  horses  sniffed  the  home  barns, 
and  though  I  had  driven  many  teams,  I  had  never 
driven  one  that  kept  me  more  on  the  alert  than  this  one. 
I  wanted  no  accidents,  so  I  gave  them  my  entire  atten 
tion.  A  half  mile  out  of  Grandview,  I  stopped  the 
horses  under  a  great  elm,  in  a  triangle  where  three 
roads  met.  The  animals  needed  rest.  They  stood 
with  heaving  sides,  breathing  and  cooling,  ere  I  let 
them  take  just  a  taste  of  the  water  in  a  roadside 
trough.  While  we  were  waiting,  Miss  Leavenworth 
spoke  once  more  of  Tom,  asking  me  what  I  supposed 
the  touch  of  her  life  and  his  could  possibly  mean,  and 
what  the  end  would  be  ? 

I  did  not  answer  at  once.  Instead,  I  drew  a  clipping 
from  my  letter-case,  a  little  gem  of  poetry  that  I  prized. 

"  I  think  this  will  answer  your  question.  Your  rela 
tion  to  Tom  is  one  of  the  foreordained  things.  Men 
call  them  chance,  but  devotion  calls  them  God.  May 
I  read  it  to  you  ?  I  think  there's  time." 

u  Oh,  yes,  do,  please,"  she  answered. 

So  I  began : 

"A  fire-mist  and  a  planet, 
A  crystal  and  a  cell ; 
A  jelly-fish  and  a  saurian, 
And  caves  where  the  cave-men  dwell ; 
Then  a  sense  of  law  and  beauty, 
And  a  face  turned  from  the  clod  — 
Some  call  it  evolution, 
And  others  call  it  God. 


298  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  A  haze  on  the  far  horizon, 
The  infinite  tender  sky  ; 
The  ripe,  rich  tints  of  the  cornfields, 
And  the  wild  geese  sailing  high  ; 
And  all  over  upland  and  lowland, 
The  charm  of  the  golden-rod  — 
Some  of  us  call  it  Autumn, 
And  some  of  us  call  it  God. 

"  Like  the  tide  on  a  crescent  sea-beach 
When  the  moon  is  new  and  thin, 
Into  our  hearts  high  yearnings 
Come  welling  and  surging  in  — 
Come  from  the  mystic  ocean 
Whose  rim  no  foot  has  trod  — 
Some  of  us  call  it  Longing, 
And  some  of  us  call  it  God. 

"  A  picket  frozen  on  duty, 
A  mother  starved  for  her  brood, 
Socrates  drinking  the  hemlock, 
And  Jesus  on  the  rood  ; 
And  millions  who,  humble  and  nameless, 
The  straight,  hard  pathway  trod  — 
Some  call  it  Consecration, 
And  others  call  it  God." 

"  Oh,  that  is  beautiful,  Mr.  Haynes,  and  so  helpful." 

That  was  all  she  said — but  her  face  was  shining. 

I  gave  the  horses  the  water,  and  drove  them 
leisurely  do\vn  the  wide  street.  It  was  almost  six 
o'clock.  As  we  jogged  along,  I  heard  an  uproar 
behind  me,  and  suddenly  a  cry,  "  Way  there,  mister  ! 
Way  there  !  You'll  be  run  down." 

Looking  backward,  I  saw,  a  hundred  yards  away, 
a  big  team  running  wildly.  They  had  no  driver  and 
were  dragging  a  heavy  dray,  dashing  from  side  to  side 
of  the  street,  directly  toward  us.  People,  terrified, 
were  fleeing  for  shelter  behind  projecting  flights  of 
stone  steps. 


PERIL  SURPRISES  LOVE  209 

"  Way  there,  mister !  way  there  !  "  came  the  cry.  It 
was  then  that  my  country  training  stood  me  in  good 
stead.  To  try  to  drive  away,  faster  than  they  were 
coming,  was  useless.  To  try  driving  toward  them  and 
so  avoid  them,  zigzagging  as  they  were,  was  danger 
ous.  The  only  thing  was  to  stop,  watch,  and  take  my 
chances.  I  whirled  my  horses  instantly  at  right 
angles  to  the  street.  The  runaways  were  bearing 
directly  down  upon  me.  Alice  Leavenworth  sat  like 
a  statue,  uttering  no  sound.  When  the  maddened 
beasts  were  within  thirty  yards  of  us,  and  I  saw  they 
could  not  change  their  course,  I  gave  my  own  horses  a 
touch  with  the  whip,  sending  them  with  a  tremendous 
spring  straight  across  the  street,  directly  in  front  of 
the  thundering  dray,  and  we  were  safe. 

There  was  a  great  cheer  from  the  crowd.  The  move 
had  been  made  just  in  time.  Where  my  carriage  had 
been  thirty  seconds  before,  that  runaway  pair  dashed, 
striking  a  small  tree  with  the  huge  hub  of  a  hind 
wheel,  and  snapping  it  off;  then  on  they  tore,  down 
the  street.  Our  danger  and  escape  had  been  so  quick 
that  I  could  scarcely  realize  it. 

Turning  about  once  more,  I  followed  the  course  of 
the  dray.  Miss  Leavenworth  had  not  yet  spoken  a 
word.  Looking  at  her,  I  noticed  that  her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  street  beyond,  across  which,  just  then,  a 
little  boy  was  seen  to  run,  directly  into  the  track  of 
the  wild  horses.  That  he  would  be  run  down  and 
killed  seemed  inevitable ;  yet,  in  all  the  horror  of  the 
moment,  to  turn  my  eyes  away  was  impossible.  But 
quicker  than  the  horses,  out  from  the  throng  there 
dashed  a  man  to  where  the  boy  had  fallen,  seized  him, 
pulled  him  with  a  swift  swing  of  his  arm  out  of  danger, 
and  then,  as  if  made  dizzy  by  his  own  act,  he  faltered 


300  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

just  a  second,  staggered,  fell  in  front  of  the  team,  and 
horses  and  dray  passed  over  his  prostrate  form.  Never 
before  had  I  seen  a  thing  so  horrible.  As  we  drove 
up,  the  little  boy  was  sitting  in  the  road  ;  in  his  lap  lay 
the  head  of  the  man.  Like  a  flash  the  truth  went 
through  me,  and  I  tried  to  turn  the  horses  backward. 
I  was  too  late.  The  girl  by  my  side  clutched  my  arm 
with  both  her  hands,  crying : 

"  Jack  !  that's  Willie  !  And  Jack  !  oh,  Jack  !  that's 
Tom ! " 

The  meaning  of  that  impassioned  "Jack"  went 
through  my  soul,  as  with  shaking  voice  I  answered  : 

"  Yes,  Alice  dear,  I  know." 

For  a  moment  she  sobbed,  while  my  arm  went 
round  her,  holding  her  close.  Then  her  strong  soul 
asserted  itself. 

"  Jack,"  she  said,  "  please  help  me  out.  Take  the 
horses  to  the  stable,  and  then  come  back  for  me." 
This  time  there  was  no  passion  in  her  "  Jack,"  but 
rather  a  calm  decision,  and  I  knew  that  for  her  and  for 
me  the  crisis  of  life  had  come.  But  all  I  said  was  : 

"  Yes,  Alice." 

When  I  returned,  she  had  attended  to  everything 
that  needed  to  be  done,  and  her  brother  was  there 
with  an  ambulance.  Tom  was  unconscious  still.  No 
one  but  the  woman  and  the  little  boy  had  shown  even 
the  sympathy  of  tears  for  the  brave  man  who  had 
done  what  no  other  one  had  dared.  They  hurried  the 
poor  form  to  the  city  hospital.  Mr.  Lea ven  worth  accom 
panied  the  ambulance,  while  I  escorted  Alice  and  the 
little  boy  home.  I  asked  to  be  excused  from  making 
one  at  the  dinner  table,  a  request  for  which  I  could 
see  that  Alice  was  grateful.  She  went  with  me  to  the 
hall  door. 


PERIL  SURPRISES  LOVE  301 

"  Your  skill  and  courage  saved  my  life,"  she  said ; 
"  saved  both  our  lives.  And  Tom,  whom  you  found 
for  me,  saved  Willie's  life  at  the  sacrifice  of  his  own. 
How  can  I  ever  repay  you  ?  " 

I  took  her  extended  hand,  answering  her  question, 
"  You  can  repay  me  with  the  life  you  say  I  have  saved. 
You  can  let  me  watch  over  you,  care  for  you,  love 
you  with  all  my  soul  while  life  shall  last.  Will  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  1  will." 

Then  that  hall  door  was  closed,  but  it  did  not  shut 
me  out.  Which  one  closed  it  need  not  be  told,  nor 
what  we  did,  nor  how  long  we  stood  there.  But  the 
look  she  gave  me  as  our  covenant  was  made  has 
never  for  one  moment  been  forgotten. 

I  was  not  twenty  yards  from  the  gate  when  I  met 
Bruce  Fraser.  "  Good-evening,"  I  said. 

"  Damn  your  good-evenings,"  he  answered.  "  You 
made  a  fine  spectacle  of  Miss  Leaven  worth  this  after 
noon,  didn't  you  ?  But  I'll  see  that  you  and  your 
ragamuffins  annoy  her  no  more." 

"  You  need  not  trouble,  Mr.  Fraser,"  I  answered. 
"  I  shall  never  annoy  her  again  in  this  world,  God 
helping  me." 

"I'm  glad  you've  come  to  your  senses,"  he  said. 
"  And  if  God  don't  help  you,  I  know  who  will."  He 
went  on  to  the  Leavenworths'. 

My  first  effort  at  the  Balustrade  was  to  find 
Henderson,  tell  him  of  the  incident  that  had  so  moved 
me,  and  arrange  with  him  to  go  to  the  hospital,  after 
we  had  dined.  Ah,  but  he  was  a  man  with  a  great 
heart !  He  gave  orders  at  the  hospital  to  provide  the 
best  attention  and  skill  for  Tom,  and  agreed  to  meet 
the  cost.  Then  he  sent  a  carriage  for  Tom's  mother, 


302  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

while  we  both  remained  until  she  was  by  her  boy's 
side.  He  left  some  money  with  her,  and  we  returned 
to  the  hotel.  For  me,  there  was  a  promise  to  be  kept ; 
so,  bidding  him  good-night,  I  made  m}^  way  back  to 
Morningside  Terrace. 

Alice  took  me  straight  to  her  mother. 

The  dear  lady  rose,  and,  extending  her  two  hands, 
clasped  mine  in  both  of  hers.  "  "We  can  never  repay 
you,  Mr.  Haynes,"  she  said,  "  never." 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Leavenworth,"  I  said,  "you  can.  If 
you  and  Alice  will  give  me  the  life  she  says  I  saved, 
to  love  and  to  care  for  always,  you  will  not  only 
repay  me,  but  you  will  make  me  inextricably  your 
debtor.  Will  you  ?  " 

The  mother  looked  steadily  at  me  a  moment,  then 
turned  to  Alice,  then  looked  back  at  me,  repeating 
slowly,  "  Will  I  ?  Will  I  ?  Alice  is  my  only  daugh 
ter,  Mr.  Haynes,  and — but,  Alice, — is  this  your  wish 
too  ?  " 

The  maid  of  honor  put  her  arm  around  her  mother's 
waist. 

"  Yes,  mother,"  she  answered.  The  old  lady  kissed 
her ;  then,  turning  to  me,  said,  "  Then  it  is  yes, 
Mr.  Haynes,  from  both  of  us.  Your  name  is  John,  is 
it  not  ?  John  was  my  boy's  name — my  boy  who 
died  at  Fredericksburg.  You  shall  be  John,  for  me 
and  mine,  from  henceforth." 


Alice  sat  with  me  on  the  veranda.  The  moon  was 
full,  and  there  was  magic  in  the  air.  Neither  of  us 
ever  had  known  such  an  evening  as  that.  To  stay 
long  was  impossible ;  the  events  of  the  day  had  been 
full  of  excitement,  and  in  our  hearts  was  unspoken 


PERIL  SURPRISES  LOVE  303 

sorrow  over  the  poor  boy  out  of  whose  sacrifice  we 
had  come  to  the  mutual  knowledge  of  our  love  for 
each  other.  Just  before  I  said  good-night,  I  asked: 

"  Alice  dear,  was  Bruce  Fraser  here  to-night  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "he  came  in  just  after  you 
had  gone.  He  was  all  broken  up  over  our  narrow 
escape  this  afternoon.  Bruce  and  I  have  been  friends 
so  long,  he  seems  to  feel  that  anything  that  affects  me 
affects  him." 

"  Did  he  say  anything  about  me  ?  " 

"Yes.  lie  had  been  misinformed  about  the 
accident.  He  laid  it  all  to  your  bungling  driving. 
I  told  him  how  it  was." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  about  our  relations  ?  " 

"No.  He  was  excited,  and  if  he  ever  drank,  I 
should  think  he  had  been  drinking.  He  only  staid  a 
short  time." 

"  You  would  better  tell  him,  Alice,  the  next  time 
he  comes." 

"  Do  you  wish  it,  Jack  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said. 

Next  morning,  Sunday,  summoned  me  to  the 
hospital  ;  Alice  and  Dick  and  Willie  were  already 
there.  She  could  not  be  satisfied  with  sending  to 
learn  of  Tom's  condition,  so  herself  had  gone  early, 
with  Dick  and  the  boy  for  escort.  Seeing  that  the 
poor  fellow's  end  was  approaching,  she  rightly 
thought  I  would  wish  to  be  there. 

Tom  had  remained  unconscious  all  the  night,  but 
with  the  morning  the  soul  came  back  to  its  shattered 
temple.  The  eyes  opened  for  one  last  look  on  the 
world,  and  the  tongue  was  loosed  to  say  its  last  words 
until  in  the  company  of  the  redeemed  it  should  take 
up  the  new  song,  "  unto  Him  who  hath  loved  us  and 


304:  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

hath  washed  us  from  our  sins  in  His  own  blood." 
That  the  pardon  which  Christ  had  bought  was  Tom's, 
I  knew  before  I  had  stood  many  moments  by  his 
cot.  A  strange  beauty  shone  from  his  face.  His  eyes 
roved  over  the  unaccustomed  place,  and  the  comforts 
of  it  seemed  to  satisfy  him.  He  knew  us  all  but 
Richard  Leavenworth.  Sometimes,  as  I  have  thought 
of  his  last  moments,  I  have  wondered  if  he  did  not 
think  he  was  at  the  portals  of  heaven. 

His  eyes  sought  our  faces,  looking  lovingly  at  his 
mother  and  at  Alice.  Poor  mother !  There  lay  all 
that  remained  of  him  who  for  so  long  had  been 
almost  her  sole  support.  What  would  she  do  now  ? 
"What  do  any  of  the  poor  do  ?  They  are  always  with 
us,  and  how  little  we  reck  of  them. 

There  was  nothing  stolid  in  that  poor  upturned  face 
now.  Coarseness  was  there,  but  not  because  of  sin ; 
it  was  the  mark  of  hardship  and  poverty.  Haggard- 
ness  was  there,  but  not  because  of  debauchery  ;  it  was 
laid  there  by  the  hand  of  calamity. 

He  turned  his  face  to  his  mother.  Falteringly, 
brokenly,  he  said : 

"  Mother — the  Lord — will — provide." 

His  eyes  sought  Alice's  face. 

"Teacher,"  he  began,  but  the  words  came  slowly 
and  feebly,  "'Inasmuch  as — ye — hev — done  it — unto 
one  of  the  least  of — these — My — brethren — ye  hev — 
done  it — unto  Me.'  I — pulled  "Willie  out  o'  the  way — 
fer  Him." 

There  followed  moments  of  silence.  Only  his 
breathing  told  us  that  he  had  not  gone.  Then  at  last 
he  roused  himself,  trying  to  speak  again.  This  time 
he  looked  at  me.  The  voice  was  very  faint  and  low, 
and  the  words  were  very  far  apart. 


PERIL  SURPRISES  LOVE  305 

"  Though — I — am — poor  and  needy — yet — the  Lord 
— thinketh — upon  me  !  "  Then  silence — utter  silence. 
Not  a  quiver,  not  a  sigh.  The  light  was  out.  Poor 
Tom  no  more  !  Stolid  Tom  no  more  !  Redeemed  Tom 
—redeemed  by  the  blood  of  the  Lamb ! 

Alice  turned  to  me.  "  He's  gone,  Jack."  There 
was  a  moment's  pause,  then  she  went  on,  "  And  we 
are  here.  Reward  for  him,  work  for  us — and,  God 
helping,  we  will  do  our  work  together." 

After  another  moment's  silence,  she  asked,  with  a 
break  in  her  voice : 

"  Do  you  know  what  those  last  words  to  us  all 
were  ?  They  were  Golden  Texts  from  his  lessons  in 
the  mission  school.  And  that  last  text  of  all — that 
was  the  Golden  Text  of  that  very  first  Sunday,  when 
I  felt  keenly  the  sense  of  my  unutterable  failure." 

"  God  is  good,  Alice,"  I  said  gently.  "  He  has  given 
you  the  fruitage  of  your  labors  in  His  own  time." 

We  laid  Tom  away  in  Fernvale  Cemetery.  Hen 
derson  and  Major  Ardman  chose  the  spot  and  met 
the  cost,  and  they  placed  there  a  stone  on  which  was 
carved : 

"  TOM. 
The  World  Gave  Him  No  Chance, 

but 
JESUS  CHRIST  DID." 

And  Henderson's  loving  kindness  did  not  stop  there. 
While  the  mother  lived,  the  mill  superintendent  paid 
her  Tom's  wages  every  week,  and  Henderson  knew 
what  was  the  cause. 


XXVI 

LOVE'S  CONFESSION 

THE  General  Assembly  adjourned.     Its  mem 
bers  scattered.     Mr.  Henderson  left  me  in 
Grandvievv,   saying   in    farewell,  "Business 
will  keep  me  frae  hame  for  yet  a  few  days,  an'  ye 
need   to  get  your  bearings  before  ye  start,  or  we'll 
never  see  ye  in  Duqueboro,  I  doot.     There's  naethin' 
like  a  lassie  to  straighten  oot  a  man  as  daft  as  ye  are. 
Spend  a  day  or  twa  wi'  the  queen.     She'll  righten  ye. 
Then  come  hame.     Ye  ken  the  way." 

"I  shall  go  too,  tomorrow,"  I  answered,  "but  not 
home.  I'm  going  to  Greenton  first,  but  I'll  be  home 
before  Sunday." 

"An'  what  are  ye  goin'  to  Greenton  for  ?'  Is  that 
Jim  Garvey  in  it  ?  Hoot,  man !  wi'  your  Greentons 
an'  your  Garveys,  an'  that  girl  only  juist  got  ye. 
Ye're  ungratefu'  to  her  an'  to  me,  wi'  your  Greentons 
an'  your  Garveys." 

He  shook  my  hand  and  was  gone.  The  rest  of  the 
day  and  evening  was  spent  on  the  Terrace. 

Oh,  that  last  night  with  Alice  under  the  May  moon, 
with  the  glistening  river  lying  there  below,  and  the 
laughter  and  song  from  the  boats  floating  up  as 
accompaniment  to  the  low  hum  of  our  voices.  We 
had  been  sitting,  as  lovers  do,  with  no  spoken  word, 
enjoying  the  deeper,  lovelier  communion  of  silence, 
when  the  dear  girl  said  suddenly  : 

306 


LOVE'S  CONFESSION  307 

"  Did  you  tell  Mr.  Henderson  of  our  engagement  ?  " 

"No,"  I  replied.  "It  wasn't  necessary.  He  told 
me." 

"  Told  you  ?  How  could  he  ?  "  was  her  puzzled 
inquiry. 

"  Don't  you  know  Henderson  yet  ?  Joe  Smith  told 
him  once  he  was  a  wizard,  and  I  think  he  is — a  Scotch 
wizard." 

"  Yes,  but  how  did  he  know  ?  " 

"  Oh,  by  his  wizarding.  He  watched  me,  I  suppose. 
He's  a  lawyer,  and  reading  men's  faces  is  his  pro 
fession.  Anyway,  on  Monday  after  Tom's  funeral  he 
said  to  me, '  So  ye've  come  to  your  senses,  I  doot,'  and 
when  I  asked  him  when  I'd  been  away  from  them, 
'Hoot,  man,'  said  he,  'ye've  been  oot  o'  your  senses 
ever  since  I  knew  ye.  Ye've  loved  the  girl  three 
years,  an'  she's  loved  ye  three  years,  an'  ye  never  went 
near  her  till  I  trapped  ye  an'  landed  ye  at  Grand 
view,  an'  ye've  been  blunderin'  ever  since  then,  till 
noo.'  And  you  should  have  seen  his  satisfaction  when 
he  added, '  But  it's  a'  settled  noo.  An'  I  congratulate 
ye,  lad ;  I  congratulate  ye.  A  man  does  a  great  thing 
when  he  comes  to  his  senses  aboot  the  woman  he 
loves.'  " 

Alice's  laugh  was  music  to  me,  for  she  had  been 
very  sad  over  Tom.  When  the  ripple  passed,  she 
said  : 

"  Is  that  true  ?    Have  you  loved  me  for  three  years  ?" 

She  need  not  have  asked  ;  I  had  told  her  that  before. 
But  I  answered  as  if  I  had  not. 

"  I  have  loved  you  ever  since  that  night  wrhen, 
coming  down  the  broad  stairs  at  the  Wayne  Mansion, 
I  saw  you  and  Phyllis  Lorraine  standing  in  the  hall 
below," 


308  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Do  you  know,  Jack — I  knew  it  that  night,  that 
very  night." 

"  How  could  I  know  you  did  ?  "  was  my  frank  reply. 
"  You  wouldn't  let  me  near  enough  to  see  what  you 
did  or  did  not  know." 

"  That's  true,"  she  answered  gently.  "  I  wouldn't — 
can't  you  imagine  why  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  returned ;  "  it's  beyond  the  most  vivid  flight 
of  my  fancy.  "Why  was  it  ?  " 

"Well "  and  she  hesitated  a  trifle;  "  well— I 

loved  you  that  very  night,  and  I  didn't  want  to."  The 
words  fairly  tumbled  over  her  lips.  "  So  I  wouldn't 
have  had  you  know  it  for  worlds." 

"  "Why,  Alice  Leaven  worth  !  "  I  cried  in  amazement, 
"  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  fell  in  love  with  me 
that  night — with  me  ?  " 

"Yes — that  night — with  you — as  you  came  down 
those  stairs." 

Thereafter  ensued  a  long  silence  on  the  veranda. 

When  I  spoke  next,  it  was  to  say,  "  Why  didn't  you 
want  me  to  know  you  loved  me,  Alice  ?  "  I  was 
returning  to  the  subject  that  interested  me  most. 

"  Do  you  suppose  any  girl  likes  to  wear  a  sign  for 
the  man  she  loves,  to  read  ?  Besides,  I  had  said  over 
and  over  that  I'd  never  marry  a  preacher.  Phyllis 
had  been  teasing  me  about  you,  prophesying  that  I'd 
be  an  easy  victim  to  your  charms.  She  had  never 
seen  you,  but  Harry  had  told  her  about  you,  and  she 
thought  she  was  a  wonderful  judge  of  men,  though  I 
can't  say  much  for  her  taste  in  choosing  Mr.  Sinclair." 

"  Then  you  meant  to  keep  Phyllis  ignorant  as  well 
as  me  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  You  reason  well  from  the  premises,"  was  her 
laughing  reply,  and  her  laugh  was  joyous  and  clear. 


LOVE'S  CONFESSION  309 

"  You're  a  fine  actress,  Alice,"  I  answered,  more 
fascinated  than  ever  with  her  charm.  "  A  fine  actress. 
Neither  Phyllis  nor  Harry  nor  I  ever  suspected  the 
facts.  At  Mr.  Henderson's  house  one  night,  when  he 
was  bragging  that  he  would  marry  me  to  the  most 
beautiful  girl  in  the  world,  Harry  said  to  him,  'You've 
taken  a  big  contract.  I  tried  to  start  a  game  of  that 
sort  at  old  St.  David's,  but  the  game  wouldn't  go. 
The  girl  I  had  there  for  him  was  the  most  beautiful 
girl  in  the  world,  and  the  two  looked  at  each  other 
without  the  slightest  interest.  I  think  each  of  them 
was  bored  because  each  had  to  put  up  with  the  other 
for  two  whole  days.  Phyllis  and  I  were  sadly  dis 
appointed.'  " 

"  We  both  know  of  whom  Harry  was  talking,"  she 
said.  "  But  who,"  she  added  archly,  "  was  the  lady 
Mr.  Henderson  spoke  of  ?  " 

"  Why,  you,"  said  I.  "  Who  else  ?  They  both  had 
you  in  mind.  Henderson  knew  it,  though  Harry 
didn't." 

"  There's  been  quite  a  game  played  around  me,  of 
which  I  knew  nothing." 

"  Nothing,  Alice  ?    Are  you  sure  ?  "  I  questioned. 

"  Well,  not  much  of  anything.  Nothing  until  Julia's 
visit.  After  you'd  gone  home,  and  your  letter  about 
Tom  came,  Julia  teased  me  some,  but  she  didn't 
learn  one  syllable  of  my  secret." 

There  was  another  little  interval  of  silence  that  was 
not  tedious.  The  moon  was  very  bright,  the  river 
was  very  beautiful,  and  neither  of  us  had  ever  been 
engaged  before.  Finally,  as  before,  I  broke  the 
spell : 

"  Alice,  may  I  ask  you  something  without  danger 
of  making  you  angry  ?  " 


310  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Why,  yes,  dear.  What  could  you  say  to  auger 
me?" 

"  Well,  I  might  say  a  right  thing  in  a  way  so  wrong 
and  blundering  as  to  annoy  you,  if  I  didn't  rouse  your 
anger.  But  I'll  risk  it,  anyway."  Then,  boldly,  "  Do 
you  remember  the  day  you  and  Felix  Ardman  were  on 
Fifth  avenue,  before  Schaus'  window  ?  " 

Her  reception  of  the  question  surprised  me.  "  I've 
been  wanting  you  to  ask  me  that  very  thing,"  she 
said.  "I  kne\v  you  would  sometime.  I  wanted  to 
tell  you  about  that,  but  I  couldn't  bring  myself  to 
take  the  initiative.  I  said  a  horrid  thing,  and  I  knew 
it.  But,  Jack,  I  loved  you  that  day,  and  the  sight  of 
you  roused  a  struggle  in  me  that  I  thought  I  had 
fought  all  out  before.  I  saw  you  before  you  saw  me. 
When  you  did  see  me,  I  wished  the  earth  would  open. 
I  was  angry  to  think  I  loved  you.  I  almost  gave  you 
the  heartiest  welcome  you  ever  had ;  but,  had  I  done 
that,  Felix  Ardman  would  have  known,  for  I  could 
not  have  kept  it  concealed.  I  said  in  my  heart, '  I  will 
not  love  him — I  will  not  marry  him,'  and  my  only 
defense  was  in  brusque  repellence  of  your  look.  I 
called  it  a  stare,  and  you  heard  and  rushed  out  among 
the  carriages,  and  I  thought  you  Avould  be  killed. 
When  I  saw  you  safe  on  the  top  of  that  stage,  I  offered 
a  prayer  of  thanks,  for  I  did  love  you,  Jack,  and  I  do. 
I  never  would  have  married  anyone  else.  I  said  I 
would  never  marry  you,  but  I  will,  Jack — I  will." 

Then  after  a  little  I  said,  "  And  that  tells  the  story 
of  The  Westernland,  too,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Jack.  It  was  almost  more  than  I  could  bear, 
to  have  you  on  that  steamer — to  have  to  see  you  for 
ten  days.  That  night  when  you  nearly  tumbled  over 
me,  and  blazed  out  so  at  me,  I  almost  broke  down. 


LOVE'S  CONFESSION  311 

Had  you  just  there  declared  that  you  had  followed 
me  because  you  loved  me,  I  think  I  should  have 
accepted  you." 

"  Do  you  remember  the  day  you  met  Mr.  Harris  in 
Kome  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember.  He  told  us  you  were  in  Rome. 
I  wished  I  could  have  a  sight  of  you  that  day.  We 
told  him  where  we  were  going,  and  when.  I  thought 
perhaps  you  would  be  about  the  station  somewhere." 

"  But  I  told  you  I  would  never  see  you  again  unless 
it  were  by  accident." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  But  I  thought  perhaps  you  might 
have  an  accident  happen,  you  know."  That  remark 
was  the  signal  for  another  lull  in  the  conversation. 
Finally  the  girl  said  : 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Harris,  Jack  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  wealthy  Boston  merchant  who  goes  abroad 
often.  He  and  Mr.  Henderson  have  been  friends  for 
six  years.  When  Henderson  started  me  for  Europe, 
he  induced  Mr.  Harris  to  go,  so  that  I  might  have  a 
traveling  mate.  I  did  not  know  the  man  nor  the  fact. 
Harris  scraped  acquaintance  with  me,  and  it  developed 
that  he  was  my  second  cousin.  I  didn't  learn  Hender 
son's  part  in  his  being  with  me  till  I  first  went  to 
Duqueboro,  and  David,  Jr.,  told  me." 

"  Jack,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  something  stranger 
still.  Mr.  Henderson  knows  Richard  well,  in  a  busi 
ness  way,  and  knew  that  he  was  going  abroad  on  The 
Westernland.  A  week  before  it  was  to  sail,  he  went 
into  the  store  in  Newark  and  asked  Dick  if  he  were 
going  to  take  me  along.  He  seemed  so  determined 
about  it,  Dick  finally  agreed,  if  he  could  get  room  for 
me.  Then  Mr.  Henderson  told  him  he  had  a  room 
that  he  couldn't  use,  and  wouldn't  we  take  it  ?  That's 


312  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

how  I  happened  to  be  a  passenger.  He  did  that  just 
to  get  you  and  me  together,  did  he  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  transparent.     But  it  didn't  work." 

"  Jack,  it  worked  better  than  you  thought.  I  told 
myself  a  hundred  times  a  day,  '  I  hate  that  man,'  and 
at  night  I  went  to  sleep  saying,  '  I  love  him,  oh,  I  do 
love  him,  and  why  does  he  not  see  it  ? '  " 

It  was  hard  to  say  good-bye  that  night.  But  it  had 
to  be  said.  I  passed  out  into  the  night.  Alice  was  at 
the  unclosed  door. 

I  turned  to  look  back  from  the  gate.  There  she 
stood  as  on  that  December  night  when  Henderson's 
finesse  had  brought  me  in  ignorance  to  her  home. 
She  was  the  maid  of  honor  then  :  she  was  my  maid  of 
honor  now,  my  affianced  bride.  I  see  her  still,  after 
all  the  years,  tall,  graceful,  inexpressibly  beautiful,  her 
hand  raised  to  her  lips,  and  her  face  suffused  with 
love. 


XXVII 

A  VISIT  TO  OLD  FRIENDS 

AT  half-past  one  next  day,  Joe  Smith  and  I  were 
whirling  along  the  Greenton  River  road  to 
Salisbury.  Our  destination  was  the  county 
jail.  The  sheriff  recognized  me,  comprehended  my 
errand,  and  volunteered  the  information  that  "  my  man 
was  bracing  up."  "  The  gin  is  all  out  of  him  long 
ago,"  he  said.  "  He  begins  to  look  white.  He  says 
himself  he's  going  to  stop  chewing  tobacco,  but  I'm 
afraid  that  would  kill  him.  I  thought  when  you  left 
him,  you  were  wasting  your  sympathy  ;  but  you're 
not.  I  thought  he  was  a  hobo,  but  he  isn't.  He'll 
win  out." 

The  sheriff  turned  me  over  to  a  keeper,  who  brought 
Jim  out  to  see  us.  It  hardly  seemed  possible  that  my 
eyes  told  the  truth  when  he  appeared.  There  was 
before  me  the  figure  of  an  erect  man,  instead  of  a 
slouched-down  hulk  of  a  bummer.  Walking  up,  he 
said : 

"Mr.  Haynes,  you're  the  best  man  I  ever  see. 
There's  not  another  in  your  class." 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  are,  Jim,  lots  of  them,"  I  said. 
"  But  I  don't  much  think  there  is  another  to  be  found 
easily  of  your  class.  You've  made  the  most  rapid 
advance  toward  manhood  of  any  man  I  ever  saw.  You 
know  I  told  you  there  was  a  man  in  you,  and  I  think 
he's  beginning  to  come  out." 

313 


314  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Tes,  I  guess  he's  getting  out,  Mr.  Haynes.  But 
you  opened  the  door." 

"  Well,  Jim,  an  open  door's  no  good  if  a  man  won't 
use  it.  Your  keeper  tells  me  you're  going  to  give  up 
chewing  tobacco,  Jim.  Is  that  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  it's  so." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  stand  out,  Jim  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  think  I  can." 

"  My  boy,  I'm  afraid  you  don't  know  how  hard  it's 
sure  to  be."  I  saw  my  opportunity  here  for  the  word 
I  had  come  to  Salisbury  to  say.  "  You'll  want  Jesus 
Christ  along,  if  you  break  that  habit." 

"Hold  up,  Mr.  Haynes,"  he  cried  then.  "I  ain't 
on  to  thet  racket  yet.  I'll  get  there — only  don't  go 
too  fast.  I'm  goin'  after  Jesus  Christ  jes'  as  soon  as 
I  c'n  catch  on." 

Poor  fellow  !  How  little  he  knew  !  How  low  down 
he  was.  There  were  little  lights  of  God  visible  in  him 
that  day  in  the  county  jail. 

"  Jim,"  I  continued,  "  you  won't  drink  the  day  you 
get  out  ?  " 

"  Not  a  drop,  so  help  me,  parson." 

"  Jimmie  MacNaughton  will  be  here  that  day.  You'll 
go  with  him,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Go  with  any  feller  you  say  go  with." 

"He'll  take  you  to  Bob.  I'm  going  to  see  Bob 
to-night.  He'll  have  work  ready  for  you,  work  that 
you  can  do,  and  he's  been  through  the  whole  mill  him 
self.  He  knows  every  cog  in  every  wheel  of  the  whole 
gin  machine." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Haynes;  thar's  where  I'll  go." 

So  much  settled,  I  returned  to  the  centre  of  the 
problem. 

"  See  here,  Jim,"  I  said,  "  you'll  go  down  on  the 


A  VISIT  TO  OLD  FRIENDS  315 

under  side  of  things  again,  where  you  said  you'd  always 
been,  you  know,  if  you  don't  take  Jesus  Christ  into 
your  life." 

"  Well,  where  is  He,  parson  ?  Gimme  a  sight  o' 
Him."  I  could  see  the  poor  fellow  was  in  earnest. 
"  If  I  c'n  get  hold  o'  Him,  I  will,"  he  promised.  "  So 
help  me,  I  will." 

"  Let's  go  back  to  your  cell,  Jim."  I  called  the 
keeper.  "Mr.  Smith  and  I  want  to  see  Jim  in  his 
cell,"  I  explained.  "  We  want  you  along  to  see  that 
we  don't  load  him  up  for  a  break." 

When  we  were  all  back  in  the  cell,  I  said : 

"Jim,  you've  been  a  drunkard  and  a  liar  and  a 
thief.  You  know,  don't  you,  that  Jesus  Christ  was 
crucified  for  sinners  ?  " 

"  Yes :  the  priest  told  that  yarn,  when  I  was  a  kid." 

"He  did  all  that  for  you — just  for  you.  He'll  for 
get  that  you've  been  liar  and  thief  and  drunkard,  if 
you'll  tell  Him  so  and  ask  Him  to  forget  it,  and  ask 
Him  to  come  and  go  along  with  you.  There  was  a 
thief  on  a  cross  right  beside  Him,  that  day  He  died. 
He  got  a  notion  that  Christ  could  help  him,  even  if 
He  was  on  the  cross  there.  So  he  asked  Him  not  to 
forget  him  when  He  should  enter  His  kingdom,  and 
Jesus  told  him  right  there  He'd  take  him  to  Paradise 
that  very  day.  Don't  you  think,  if  He'd  help  one  thief 
like  that,  He'd  help  another  who  asked  Him  ?  " 

"  'Twouldn't  be  fair,  if  He  didn't,"  said  Jim. 

"  Well,  I've  come  up  here  from  Grandview — that's 
almost  as  far  as  Sing  Sing — just  to  get  you  to  promise 
me  that  you'd  ask  Jesus  Christ  every  day  not  to  for 
get  you.  Will  you  do  it?" 

"  Well — I  can't  catch  on  to  her  much — but  I'll  do 
her." 


316  THE  MAID  OF  HOXOR 

"  Will  you  do  it  to-day,  Jim  ?  " 

"When?" 

"  Now.     Get  down  on  your  knees  and  do  it  now." 

Down  he  went  on  the  jail  floor.  His  prayer  was 
such  as  no  one  ever  heard  before. 

"  Jesus  Christ,  I'm  goin'  ter  be  a  man.  I  hev  quit 
gin,  an'  I'm  goin'  ter  quit  terbacker.  I  ain't  onter  this 
racket  yet — but  I'm  goin'  ter  quit,  an'  don't  yer  fergit 
me.  Amen." 

Then  Joe  Smith  prayed,  and  I  followed.  After 
that,  we  left  the  jail.  In  the  corridor,  the  keeper 
said: 

"  Do  you  go  around  doing  that  sort  of  thing  ?  " 

"No,"  I  answered,  "  that's  my  first.  But  that  man 
must  be  saved.  Whether  you're  a  Christian  or  not, 
you  should  be,  and  I  wish  you'd  take  hold  of  this  end 
of  the  job.  I'm  away  off  in  Duqueboro  when  I'm  at 
home,  but  I'll  keep  hold  out  there.  Some  one  will 
come  over  from  Greenton  every  month,  and  if  you'll 
take  hold  here,  we'll  save  this  fellow,  between  us.  He 
never  had  a  friend  in  all  his  life  before." 

"Who  are  you?"  inquired  the  keeper,  who  was 
newly  come  to  Salisbury. 

I  told  him. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  thoughtfully— and  I  was  glad  that 
the  interview  with  Jim  had,  as  I  intended,  set  another 
man  to  thinking — "  well,  I'll  go  you  half  on  your  job. 
I'm  a  Christian — not  much  on  it ;  not  much — but  I'll 
take  a  hand  at  this." 

*****  * 

There  was  a  very  happy  party  at  the  manse  that 
night.  The  good  time  began  with  dinner,  to  which 
Helen  Kaymond  had  invited  her  uncle  and  aunt. 
What  joy  it  was,  to  sit  with  those  blessed  people  in 


A  VISIT  TO  OLD  FRIENDS  317 

the  old  dining-room  of  the  only  home  I  had  known, 
for  many  a  year  !  As  I  looked  upon  the  familiar  fur 
niture,  I  thought,  "  By  and  by  you  will  be  in  another 
home  of  mine,  and  a  lady  you  have  never  known  will 
care  for  you  and  watch  over  you."  As  that  conceit 
took  form,  it  almost  seemed  as  if  my  mother's  picture 
over  the  mantel  smiled. 

Elder  Ilarfis  was  a  reticent  man  ordinarily,  but  his 
tongue  ran  like  a  mill-race  that  night.  He  was  per 
sistent  in  questions  about  the  Assembly  and  in  com 
ments  upon  it.  At  last  Joe  broke  into  the  conversa 
tion, — "  Where's  your  cigar,  Jack  ?  " 

"  Got  a  divorce  from  me  on  the  ground  of  deser 
tion,"  I  said. 

"  Have  you  deserted  the  shrine  of  the  little  brown 
roll?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered.  I  wanted  Joe  to  drop  that 
subject,  but  he  would  not. 

"How  did  it  happen,  Jack?" 

"  You  know  Major  Ardman  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  He's  been  a  smoker  for  fifty  years." 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?  " 

"  He  offered  me  a  cigar  at  his  house,  the  first  night 
I  was  in  Duqueboro.  I  said,  '  Major,  Mr.  Henderson 
has  given  up  cigars.  I'm  starting  a  new  life  here. 
Let's  celebrate  the  beginning  of  this  pastorate  by  fol 
lowing  that  good  example.'  '  Can't  do  it,  Mr.  Haynes  ; 
I'm  too  old,'  he  said.  But  he  didn't  light  his  cigar. 
He  held  it,  twirled  it,  smelled  it,  laid  it  back  in  the 
box,  shut  the  lid,  wrapped  it  in  paper,  tied  it  fast, 
and  said,  '  Take  that  with  my  compliments  to  Dr. 
Sinclair.'  He  has  never  smoked  since.  Neither  have  I. 
But,  Joe,  where's  your  own  cigar?" 


318  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Oh,"  he  replied,  "  when  I  returned  to  Greenton, 
Tim  Wendell  came  to  me  and  said,  *  Dominie,  tobacco 
is  a  dead  damage  to  influence  in  this  town.  It  hurt 
Jack  some,  while  he  was  here.  His  tobacco  was  the 
reason  why  Charlie  Hazeltine  never  joined  our 
church,  even  though  his  father  did.  Now,'  he  said, 
'  you  start  right,  and  let  that  be  one  of  the  things  you 
don't  do  here.  If  Henderson  could  stop,  old  and 
tough  as  he  was,  surely  you  can.'  So  I  stopped,  Jack." 

"That's  so — he  did,"  came  a  familiar  voice,  and 
there  in  the  door  stood  Wendell  himself,  who  had 
entered  unnoticed. 

"  Helen,"  I  said,  "  will  you  pardon  me  if  I  suggest 
that  Tim  go  and  bring  Mrs.  Wendell  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  was  the  answer.  "  Hurry  up,  Mr. 
Wendell.  We  shall  be  curious  to  hear  Jack's  story." 

When  Tim  returned  with  his  wife,  I  told  the  tale  of 
my  long  love  for  Alice  Leavenworth,  that  I  had  won 
her  and  was  to  be  married  in  September.  The  effect 
of  this  narrative  on  Joe  was  to  make  him  forget  that 
he  was  pastor  of  the  Greenton  Church,  and  that  two 
of  his  elders  were  present.  For  a  moment  he  was  a 
boy  again,  back  in  the  old  fraternity  lodge.  Jumping 
up,  he  broke  into  one  of  the  old  lodge  songs  into 
which  there  came  the  name  of  a  girl  called  Alice. 

"  Stop  that,  Joe,"  I  shouted,  "  or  I'll "  But  he 

kept  right  on. 

"  Stop,"  I  called  again,  and  this  time  went  after 
him,  while  the  whole  company  began  to  laugh  and 
cheer.  Joe  dodged  to  the  other  side  of  the  library 
table,  still  singing,  while  the  laughter  grew  louder. 
As  we  dodged  this  way  and  that  on  opposite  sides  of 
the  barrier,  a  familiar  voice  arrested  us. 

"  An'  what  are  ye  doin',  dancin'  like  Dauvid  before 


A  VISIT  TO  OLD  FRIENDS  319 

the  ark,  I  doot  ? "  Only  one  man  in  the  world 
would  have  said  that.  Joe  stopped  stock  still. 

"  Avaunt,  and  quit  ray  sight,"  he  cried,  throwing  up 
his  hands  like  Macbeth  in  the  play.  "  Take  any  form 
but  that.  Be  thou  spirit  of  health  or  goblin " 

"  Hoot,  man,  wi'  your  speerits  an'  your  goblins ! 
Have  ye  no  welcome  for  the  man  that  discovered  ye 
an'  introduced  ye  to  civil  society  ?  " 

We  were  all  laughing  heartily,  but  Helen  controlled 
herself  enough  to  act  her  part  of  hostess. 

"  You're  very  welcome  indeed,  Mr.  Henderson," 
said  she,  offering  him  her  hand.  "  And  I'm  ashamed 
of  Mr.  Smith." 

"  Oh,  there's  no  need  to  be  ashamed  o'  him,  madam. 
He  kens  no  better.  A  minister  o'  the  gospel  dancin' 
like  Dauvid  before  the  ark,  an'  no  ark,  an'  no  Dauvid 
but  me,  an'  I'm  no  dancin'.  Were  there  an  ark,  noo, 
one  could  forgie  him." 

"  Oh,  you'll  forgive  me  when  I  tell  you  I  was  con 
gratulating  Haynes  upon  his  engagement  to  the  finest 
girl  in  the  state." 

"  An'  is  it  congratulatin'  to  sing  unholy  songs  an' 
to  caper  to  the  confusion  o'  your  elders  ?  " 

"  Put  yourself  in  my  place,  Mr.  Henderson ;  put 
yourself  in  my  place.  I've  been  working  for  a  year 
to  make  a  match  between  these  two,  and  I've  just 
done  it." 

u  Ye've  dune  it,  ha'  ye  ?  Man  !  why,  I  brought 
'em  thegither.  I  made  the  plans.  I  started  the 
train.  I  delivered  the  goods  at  the  lassie's  own  door. 
An'  ye  say  ye  dune  it  ?  Man,  where's  your  con 
science  ?  " 

"  There  have  been  three  sets  of  actors  in  this 
comedy,"  said  I.  "  Harry  Sinclair  and  Phyllis  Lorraine 


320  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

were  the  first.  And  Cupid  was  very  alert  and  very 
effective  at  St.  David's,  I  have  lately  learned.  Joe 
Smith  and  his  good  wife,  too,  lent  a  helping  hand  in 
bringing  matters  to  a  happy  outcome.  But  the  king 
of  the  schemers  was  our  friend.  When  Cupid  brevets 
his  aids  for  services  well  rendered,  he  will  put  a  gen 
eral's  star  on  David  Henderson's  shoulder.  Rise, 
friends,  and  salute  the  matchmaker  from  Duqueboro." 
Every  one  rose  amid  a  roar  of  laughter.  Every  one 
bowed.  But  Henderson  was  as  sober  as  a  judge  as  he 
said,  "  Ha'  dune  wi'  your  folly.  Your  gratitude  is 
ower  late  in  expression,  man.  But  I  wadna  ha'  suc 
ceeded  but  for  the  runawa',  I  doot."  The  next  day 
Henderson  and  I  started  for  home. 


XXVIII 
AN  AWFUL  NIGHT 

AS  Mr.  Henderson  and  I  neared  Grandview,  the 
longing  to  see  Alice  almost  overpowered  me. 
It    was   only  an   echo   of  my  own   thought 
when    Henderson    said   suddenly,   as   the   train   was 
within  sight  of  the  town : 

"  Ye'll  be  stoppin'  over  yon,  I  doot." 

"Well,  no,  I  guess  not.     I've  said  good-bye." 

"Man,  what  are  ye  made  of?  Is  there  no  fire  in 
ye  ?  Are  ye  brass  or  copper,  that  the  magnet  over 
yon  river  doesna  draw  ye  with  tremendous  drawin'?" 

"  No,"  I  said.  "  The  drawing  is  all  right.  But  we 
decided  I  wasn't  to  come  back.  We  both  knew  I'd 
have  to  be  busy  in  Duqueboro  this  summer,  and 
couldn't  be  traveling  back  and  forth.  What  would 
she  think  if  I  broke  the  agreement?  " 

"  What  would  she  think,  is  it  ?  Oh,  parson,  ye're  a 
grampus.  Ye're  a  herrin'.  Ye  ken  naething  aboot 
girls.  Stir  yersel'.  Leave  me  your  luggage.  Come 
down  on  the  nine-thirty.  Join  me  at  the  old  Astor 
House.  We'll  take  the  midnight  train.  Have  one 
good  evenin'.  Ye'll  no  hae  another  a'  simmer." 

So  I  went  over.  "  Nine-thirty,  ye  ken,"  was  his  last 
word. 

As  I  went  into  the  Balustrade,  a  few  minutes  after 
six  o'clock,  I  saw  Bruce  Fraser  go  into  the  wine-room 
with  two  others,  swaggering  and  talking  loud  enough 
for  me  to  hear. 

321 


322  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Yes,  you  old  Muggins,"  he  said,  "  I'm  going  up 
there  now.  I'm  going  to  have  it  out  to-night.  I've 
been  dancing  to  the  tunes  she's  played  for  two 
years,  and  now  we'll  dance  together  or  I'll  know 
why." 

It  was  a  coarse  speech,  and  I  comprehended  its  full 
meaning.  The  man  had  evidently  been  drinking. 

It  was  seven-thirty  before  I  reached  the  Terrace. 
As  I  turned  into  the  yard,  Bruce  was  coming  down 
the  steps,  and  the  door  was  shut  behind  him.  He  had 
not  seen  me  at  the  Balustrade,  but  he  could  not  help 
seeing  me  now. 

"  Hello,  Dominie,  best  man,  et  cetera.  What  you 
doing  here  ?  "  His  breath  was  filled  with  the  fumes 
of  liquor. 

"  I'm  on  my  way  home  to  Duqueboro,  from  my  old 
home  at  Greenton,"  I  answered. 

"  Is  this  one  of  the  way  stations  ?  "  he  asked  with  a 
sneer. 

"  Well,  I've  made  it  so  to-night.  I  never  expect  to 
again,  though." 

"  Well,  you  better  not,"  he  threatened.  "  I'm  going 
to  be  boss  at  this  station,  and  I'll  kill  the  man  who 
tries  to  get  my  job." 

It  was  evident  that  something  had  gone  wrong.  It 
was  of  no  use  to  talk  to  him  so,  slipping  past,  I  went 
up  the  steps,  while  he,  with  a  wicked  oath,  went  off 
down  the  street. 

Alice  was  overjoyed  to  see  me  again.  She  had 
more  color  than  usual,  and  was  a  little  excited.  "  Did 
you  meet  Bruce  as  you  came  in  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  met  him." 

"  Did  he  speak  to  you  ?  Did  you  notice  anything 
peculiar  about  him  ?  " 


AN  AWFUL  NIGHT  323 

"  Yes  he  spoke.  He  was  not  quite  so  much  the 
gentleman  as  he  was  at  St.  David's,"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  he's  changed  horribly.  You  know,  he  worked 
for  my  brother  in  Newark.  When  Dick  moved  up 
here,  he  left  Bruce  in  charge  of  his  business.  Dick 
goes  down  twice  a  week.  Bruce  had  been  very  faith 
ful,  but  he  fell  in  with  a  fast  set  of  men,  and  they 
have  sadly  demoralized  him." 

"  Did  you  know  he  drank  too  much  punch  at  the 
old  Wayne  Mansion  ?  " 

"  No,"  was  her  reply. 

"  You  were  too  busy  trying  to  make  me  feel  how 
utterly  impossible  I  was  that  night,"  I  suggested. 

"  Stop,  Jack.     That's  all  gone." 

"Did  you  know  how  it  happened  that  Fraser  went 
in  one  boat,  your  brother  in  another,  and  you  two 
ladies  in  the  third,  when  you  went  up  Indian  Lake 
from  Locke's  that  night  ?  " 

"  No,  how  was  it  ?  Bruce  and  I  expected  to  be  in 
one  boat." 

"I  thought  that  was  probable.  I  discovered  that 
Fraser  was  drinking  while  we  were  walking  in  the 
rain.  He  had  a  flask  in  his  pocket.  When  we 
stopped  at  Indian  River  Tavern,  he  slipped  into  the 
bar-room  and  drank  hard  again.  Fearing  for  your 
safety,  I  told  John  Pike  to  make  sure  that  the  guides 
should  load  the  boats  just  as  they  did." 

"  Poor  Bruce !  I  did  like  him,  Jack.  He  was  good 
company.  He  had  enjoyed  good  advantages.  I 
never  loved  him — never  thought  of  such  a  thing ;  and 
to-night  he  horrified  me." 

"  AVhat  did  he  do  to-night  ?  "  I  knew  well  enough, 
for  I  had  overheard  his  remark  at  the  Balustrade. 

"  He  came  here  about  seven  o'clock,  a  most  unusual 


324  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

hour  for  him.  He  evidently  was  in  liquor,  and  I  wa» 
afraid.  But  happily  he  did  not  stay  very  long,  for  I 
called  Dick." 

"  Did  he  do  anything  unusual  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  he  asked  me  to  marry  him,  and  said  he  had 
been  trying  to  get  an  opportunity  to  say  that  for  a 
long  time,  but  that  I  had  never  been  fair  with  him, 
and  now  he  was  going  to  make  me  hear,  and  he  would 
not  take  no  for  an  answer."  She  paused.  She  did 
not  want  to  go  any  further,  even  to  the  man  she 
loved,  with  the  story  of  the  rejection  of  the  suit  of  the 
man  she  did  not  love.  Her  face  was  brilliant  now 
with  excitement,  and  she  had  never  looked  so  entranc- 
ingly  lovely. 

"He  made  no  trouble  when  you  did  say  no, 
did  he?" 

"  Oh,"  she  answered,  "  he  was  a  little  dreadful,  but 
I  called  Dick,  and  he  went  away.  I  have  seen  the 
last  of  him.  I  am  sorry  for  his  father,  and  I  am  more 
than  sorry  for  him." 

"What  an  hour  and  a  half  we  passed  !  To  remember 
it  even  after  all  the  years  is  happiness.  Time  went 
on  the  wings  of  love's  young  dream.  Nine  o'clock 
found  us  on  the  veranda,  very  loth  to  say  our  parting 
words.  She  was  standing  again  in  the  doorway,  and  as 
I  turned  at  the  gate  she  said,  "  Be  careful,  Jack.  Don't 
let  anything  happen." 

"  Nothing  can  happen,"  I  said,  and  hastened  down 
Bond  street,  and  was  just  at  the  corner  of  Henry, 
when  a  man  touched  my  arm  from  behind.  I  turned 
and  was  face  to  face  with  Bruce  Fraser.  "  "What  do 
you  want  ?  "  I  said. 

"I  want  you  to  read  this  paper  and  sign  it,"  he 
answered. 


AN  AWFUL  NIGHT  325 

"  I  have  no  time  ;  I  am  hurrying  to  catch  the  nine- 
thirty  Hudson  River  train  south." 

"  You'll  read  and  sign  that,  or  you  won't  take  any 
train,"  he  replied.  I  could  see  he  was  filled  with 
passion. 

"  Have  done  with  this  nonsense,  Fraser,"  I  said.  "  I 
want  no  quarrel  with  you.  I'm  in  a  hurry,  too."  I 
tried  to  avoid  him,  but  as  I  stepped  quickly  on  he  shot 
out  one  foot,  tripped  me,  and  I  fell.  Instantly  he  and 
three  other  men  were  upon  me.  They  tied  my  feet 
and  bound  my  left  arm  fast  to  my  body.  It  throbbed 
with  pain,  and  I  was  sure  I  had  broken  my  forearm  in 
the  fall.  They  left  the  right  arm  free  from  cords, 
but  one  big  ruffian  gripped  it  fast. 

"  Now  perhaps  you'll  have  time  to  read  and  sign  that 
paper,"  said  Fraser.  "  Carry  him  to  the  lamp-post, 
boys,  where  he  can  see."  Fraser  held  the  paper  be 
fore  my  eyes,  and  I  read  : 

"  I  hereby  solemnly  swear  that  I  will  never  set  foot 
on  the  Terrace  again ;  that  I  will  never  see,  nor 
attempt  to  see,  Alice  Leaven  worth  again  ;  and  that  I 
will  never  write  to  her  or  in  any  way  communicate 
with  her." 

"  What  nonsense  is  this  ?  "  I  cried  angrily. 

u  It  is  no  nonsense,  damn  you,"  said  Fraser.  "  Sign 
that  paper ;  sign  it  quick.  Then  we'll  start  you  for  the 
ferry."  He  thrust  a  pencil  into  my  hand.  "  Sign," 
said  he  again. 

"  I  will  never  sign  that  paper,"  I  replied.  "  I  shall 
come  to  Grandview  as  often  as  I  please.  I  shall  see 
this  young  lady  as  often  as  I  please  ;  and  in  September 
next  she  will  be  my  wife."  That  made  him  furious. 

"  Come  on,  then,"  he  said.     "  Take  him,  boys." 

They  hurried  me,  faint  with  pain,  down  South  street 


326  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

toward  the  river.  Behind  the  big  brewery  there  was 
a  vacant  lot.  In  it  stood  a  telegraph  pole,  by  which 
they  stood  me.  "  "Will  you  sign  that  paper  ?  "  came 
the  demand  once  more. 

"  Never." 

"  Up  with  him,  boys."  In  three  minutes  they  had 
tied  me  head  downward,  kicking  me  brutally,  merci 
lessly,  and  cursing  terribly.  Then  there  was  a  pistol- 
shot  ;  I  felt  a  sharp  sting  in  my  side,  and  fainted. 

****** 

That  shot,  which  was  meant  for  my  death,  was  the 
saving  of  my  life.  A  policeman  chanced  to  be  pass 
ing  the  corner  of  Water  and  South  streets  just  as  the 
shot  was  fired.  True  to  his  instincts,  he  ran  toward 
the  spot  from  which  the  sound  came,  heard  the  feet  of 
men  running,  sounded  his  alarm  call  for  help,  and 
came  to  where  I  was  fast  bound  in  semi-crucifixion. 
When  the  help  arrived,  they  carried  me  to  the  city 
hospital. 

****** 

Late  that,  night  Henderson  was  pacing  his  room  at 
the  Astor  House,  sorely  perplexed.  He  did  not  know 
how  to  account  for  my  non-appearance.  He  tele 
graphed  the  railway  station,  and  found  the  train  had 
come  in  on  time.  There  were  three  thoughts  in  his 
mind.  Either  I  had  missed  the  train,  or  Alice  had 
persuaded  me  to  remain  over  until  morning,  or  I  had 
been  waylaid  coming  down-town  in  New  York.  The 
first  two  thoughts  he  at  once  dismissed  with  the  reflec 
tion,  "  he  would  have  telegraphed."  The  third  started 
him  to  communicate  with  police  headquarters.  A  very 
careful  search  of  the  routes  I  could  have  taken  down 
town  revealed  no  trace  of  any  disorder  or  any  crime. 


AN  AWFUL  NIGHT  327 

Then  the  superintendent  proposed  that  an  inquiry  be 
made  of  Grand  view.  Perhaps  the  waylaying  had 
been  there.  Before  morning  he  had  learned  that  an 
unidentified  stranger  was  in  the  hospital  at  Grandview 
with  a  broken  arm,  a  gun-wound  in  his  side,  and  with 
head,  neck  and  shoulder  bearing  marks  of  contusions 
as  if  from  kicks  ;  that  no  assailants  had  been  found,  and 
no  reasons  could  be  assigned  for  the  assault.  The  first 
train  up  in  the  morning  brought  Henderson  to  Grand- 
view  and  to  the  hospital,  where  he  quickly  gave  orders 
for  the  proper  care  of  the  stranger,  about  whose 
identity  all  sorts  of  conjectures  were  being  made. 

Soon  after  his  arrival,  Richard  Leaven  worth 
appeared.  When  Alice  had  come  down  to  breakfast 
that  morning,  she  had  been  confronted  by  the  head 
lines  in  the  paper : 

"AN  UNKNOWN  YOUNG  MAN,  WELL  DRESSED, 

FOUND  TIED  HEAD  DOWNWARD  TO  A 

TELEGRAPH  POLE." 

A  few  moments  later,  Mrs.  Leaven  worth  had  found 
her  unconscious  on  the  sofa  in  the  hall,  and  her  first 
waking  words  had  sent  Dick  post-haste  to  the  hospital. 

"  It  is  Jack,"  she  had  whispered,  "  and  Bruce  did  it." 

Henderson's  message  to  her  by  her  brother  was  reas 
suring.  All  would  be  well,  he  hoped.  That  message 
sent,  he  proceeded  to  interview  the  police,  who  had 
already  searched  the  ground  over,  but  had  obtained  no 
clue  except  the  pistol  they  had  found  not  far  from  the 
telegraph  pole.  Looking  the  weapon  carefully  over, 
Henderson  found  the  name,  "  S.  Miner,"  stamped  with 
a  steel  die  in  the  wood  of  the  handle,  and  beside  it  a 
queer  mark  which  he  copied  into  his  note-book. 

Inquiry  showed  S.  Miner  to  be  the  owner  of  a  sport- 


328  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

lag-goods  store,  to  which  Henderson  immediately 
repaired. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  sign  as  that  before  ?  "  he 
asked,  producing  the  weapon. 

The  proprietor  was  a  very  eccentric  little  old  man, 
with  a  reputation  for  his  methodical  ways.  He  did  not 
believe  in  the  indiscriminate  sale  of  firearms,  and 
usually  found  a  way  of  associating  the  weapons  he  sold 
with  their  purchasers. 

"  Yes.  That  is  my  firearms  identification  sign,"  he 
replied. 

"  How  does  this  identify  ?  " 

"  "Why,  it  tallies  with  my  book." 

"  Would  you  object  to  showing  me  what  this  tallies 
with  in  your  book  ?  " 

"  Why,  no.     But  what's  the  case  ?  " 

"  The  case  of  the  man  murderously  assaulted  last 
night.  A  pistol  was  found  close  by  the  place  where 
the  stranger  was  shot.  The  pistol  bore  this  mark  and 
your  name." 

"  Oh,  I  see.  Well,  here's  the  record."  The  man 
produced  a  book,  and,  running  rapidly  down  a  long 
column  of  characters,  found  the  one  in  question.  Then 
he  turned  to  a  description  of  the  pistol,  the  day  it  was 
sold,  and  the  person  who  bought  it.  In  this  case 
the  man  was  described,  but  no  name  given.  "  Young 
man,  tall,  well  built,  fresh  face,  yellow  hair,  stranger, 
would  not  give  his  name."  The  date  of  the  sale  was 
eight  o'clock  of  the  night  before. 

Back  at  the  police  office,  Henderson  told  what  he 
had  learned.  "That  description  fits  young  Fraser," 
said  the  chief. 

"  Who's  he  ?  " 

"  He's  the  son  of  the  preacher  in  the  Presbyterian 


AN  AWFUL  NIGHT  329 

church.  He  does  not  live  here."  He  called  in  one 
of  his  men  to  the  private  office.  "  Barney,  have  you 
seen  young  Fraser,  the  preacher's  son,  here  lately  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  was  here  yesterday." 

"  Where  did  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  Saw  him  goin'  into  old  lady  Leavenworth's  on  the 
Terrace  about  seven  o'clock  last  night." 

Then  the  chief  turned  to  Henderson.  "  That  fits 
with  a  curious  piece  of  paper  that  was  brought  in  while 
you  were  out.  It  was  found  in  the  lot,  by  the  pole, 
with  blood-drops  on  it.  It  was  picked  up  when  the 
pistol  was,  but  has  only  just  been  turned  in." 

When  Henderson  read  the  paper  Bruce  had  tried  to 
make  me  sign,  the  case  was  clear  to  him.  "  I  know 
all  about  this  thing  now,"  he  said.  "  It's  a  case  of 
jealous  madness,  and  probably  the  man  was  drunk.  I 
want  that  paper  for  three  or  four  days.  I  want  the 
young  woman's  name  kept  out  o'  the  papers,  and  all 
further  investigation  kept  secret  in  this  office.  The 
man  in  the  hospital  is  my  pastor.  I'm  a  lawyer.  If 
I  can  do  what  I  want  to  do,  young  Fraser  will  never 
trouble  any  of  you  here  again.  I  don't  want  to  hurt 
him.  I  want  to  save  him.  There's  only  one  way  to 
do  it,  and  that  way  lies  through  my  possession  of  that 
paper."  And  it  was  yielded  to  him,  together  with 
the  pistol. 

During  the  day  he  learned  from  Alice  the  story  of 
Bruce's  visit  on  Friday  evening,  and  of  our  meeting 
near  her  door.  He  asked  Dick  if  he  had  any  of 
Fraser's  letters,  and  when  he  compared  them  with  the 
blood-stained  paper,  reached  the  conclusion  that  he 
expected.  Before  night  the  police  were  on  the  trail 
of  Fraser's  accomplices. 

On  Monday  morning  Henderson  walked  into  Kich- 


330  THE  MAID  OF  HONOIl 

ard  Leavenworth's  store  in  ]STe\vark,  and  asked  if 
Mr.  Fraser  was  in.  He  sent  his  card  to  the  office. 
The  young  man  received  him  courteously.  When  the 
common  salutations  were  passed,  Henderson  said, 
"  Ye  dinna  receive  mornin'  calls  from  lawyers  often, 
I  doot." 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  was  the  reply.  "  Are  you  a 
lawyer  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I'm  a  lawyer,  an'  lawyers  seldom  call  except 
they  have  business,  I  doot." 

"Then  you  have  business  with  me,  I  presume. 
"What  is  its  nature,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  What  would  ye  be  thinkin'  its  nature  might  be  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  a  mind-reader,"  said  Fraser. 

"Ye  would  become  a  mind-reader  if  I  said  'John 
Haynes,'  I  doot." 

Fraser's  ruddy  face  turned  very  pale,  and  Hender 
son  went  on,  "I  was  right.  I  see  ye  are  mind-readin' 
now.  Ye  are  wonderin'  whether  John  Haynes  is 
dead,  I  doot." 

Bruce  gathered  himself  together,  and  said  with  an 
assumed  bravado,  "  This  is  rather  remarkable  conduct 

on  your  part,  Mr. Ah  !  What  did  you  say  was 

your  name  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  recall — Henderson.  Rather 
remarkable  conduct,  Mr.  Henderson.  What  does  it 
mean  ?  Who  is  John  Haynes  ?  " 

"  He  is  the  young  man  whom  you  tried  to  kill  last 
Friday  night  in  Grandview,"  said  Henderson. 

"Mr.  Henderson,  if  your  errand  here  this  morning 
is  to  insult  me,  you  might  as  well  consider  your  inter 
view  ended."  He  stepped  to  the  office  door  and 
opened  it.  Henderson  did  not  move.  "  Did  you 
hear  ?  "  said  Bruce. 

"  Yes,  I  heard.     But  I  was  too  busy  mind-readin'  to 


AN  AWFUL  NIGHT  331 

start.  I  was  readin'  what  ye  was  thinkin.'  Ye  was 
sayin',  '  "Who  is  this  Henderson  ?  What  does  he  know 
aboot  rne  ?  What  does  he  know  aboot  Grand  view  ? 
Does  he  know  aboot  Alice  Leavenworth '" 

"By  the  eternal,"  shouted  Bruce,  "  I'll  not  stand 
this.  Here,  Mike  !  Come  and  drag  this  insolent  bully 
out  of  the  office."  He  made  a  dive,  seizing  Henderson 
by  the  collar.  But  he  had  reckoned  without  his  host. 
Henderson  had  flung  him  into  a  corner  of  the  office, 
and  had  locked  the  office  door,  before  Mike  could 
enter.  Towering  over  Fraser,  who  had  fallen,  he  said, 
"  Ye  thought  I  was  a  bairn,  I  doot.  Ye  thought  ye 
could  tie  me  head  doon  to  a  telegraph  pole,  I  doot. 
Get  up  and  sit  doon  here.  I  hae  a  word  o'  advice 
for  ye.  Ye  may  o'erpower  meenisters  in  the  dark, 
but  ye  canna  do  it  wi'  me,  man ;  ye  canna  do  it  wi'  me." 

"  Who  the  hell  are  you  ?  "  said  Bruce. 

"I'm  David  Henderson,  of  Duqueboro,  Pa.  I'm 
elder  of  the  Kir  Jear  Presbyterian  Church  of  that 
city.  John  Haynes  is  its  pastor,  an'  I'm  his  friend. 
He  was  best  man  at  St.  David's,  and  ye  were  usher. 
An'  ye  baith  saw  the  same  girl,  an'  he  has  won  her ; 
an'  ye  played  the  dastard  trick  wi'  him  last  Friday 
night,  an'  he's  like  to  dee.  An'  if  he  does,  I'll  hang 
ye,  for  I've  got  the  evidence." 

"  You've  got  no  evidence,  for  the  story's  false.  Of 
course  I  know  Haynes,  but  I  haven't  seen  him  for  two 
years." 

"  Oh,  yes,  ye  hae  seen  him  in  less  than  twice  two 
days,  an'  I've  the  evidence  o'  that  in  ma  pocket. 
The  pistol,  ye  ken,  an'  the  private  mark  on  it  for 
record,  ye  ken  ;  an'  the  paper  that  ye  wrote,  ye  ken, 
that  ye  tried  to  make  the  meenister  sign."  Then  Bruce 
blustered  again : 


332  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  I  want  this  tomfoolery  to  stop.  I  tell  you  to  get 
out  of  this  office,"  and  he  stepped  to  the  door  to 
unlock  it.  But  Henderson  was  too  quick,  and  had  the 
key.  Then  his  whole  attitude  changed.  He  dropped 
the  Scotch  fun. 

"  Mr.  Fraser,  let  us  talk  at  cross  purposes  no  longer. 
I  have  evidence  to  hang  you  if  Mr.  Haynes  dies.  If 
he  recovers,  I  will  land  you  in  the  State  prison  for 
many  years  for  assault  with  intent  to  kill,  unless  you 
sign  the  paper  I  have  in  my  pocket.  It  is  in  your 
handwriting.  Richard  Leaven  worth  has  given  me 
letters  of  your  writing  which  have  been  compared  with 
this  paper.  It  is  blood-stained,  and  was  found  near  the 
telegraph  pole  where  you  and  your  associates  tied 
Haynes.  Here  it  is."  Then  Bruce  Fraser  collapsed. 

"  Will  you  sign  that  paper  ?  "  said  Henderson. 

"  Yes,  I'll  sign  it,"  he  said.  He  took  the  paper, 
dated  and  signed  it,  and  Henderson  affixed  his  own 
name  as  witness. 

"  "When  I  open  that  door,  you  will  find  two  police 
men  standing  by  it.  Don't  be  troubled.  They  will  go 
when  I  give  the  word.  If  John  Haynes  lives,  you  will 
have  no  trouble.  If  he  dies,  I'll  hang  you.  I  know 
your  three  accomplices.  If  he  lives,  Mr.  Leaven  worth 
will  never  mention  this  to  you.  Your  work  here  will 
go  right  on.  But  you  still  have  to  promise  one  thing. 
When  I  telegraph  for  you,  you  are  to  come  at  once  to 
Grandview.  It  will  mean  that  John  Haynes  will  live, 
but  that  you  must  come  up  and  meet  me.  Will  you 
promise  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  promise,"  he  said.  Then  Henderson 
opened  the  door  and  went  away,  followed  by  the 
policemen. 


AN  AWFUL  NIGHT  333 

"When  I  regained  consciousness,  it  was  to  become 
aware  of  racking  pains  filling  me.  My  head  was 
weak  and  sore,  and  the  brain  could  give  me  no  account 
of  where  I  was,  nor  of  what  had  occurred.  Presently 
I  noticed  the  peculiar  garb  of  two  women  who  were  in 
the  room,  and  recognized  them  as  nurses.  I  spoke 
finally,  "  Will  you  kindly  tell  me  where  I  am  ? " 
They  had  not  noticed  me  apparently  as  being  awake. 

"  You  are  with  friends,"  one  said,  "  but  you  must 
not  talk  now." 

"  But  I  must  preach  Sunday,"  I  said. 

"  Sunday  is  past,"  the  woman  said.  "  This  is 
Wednesday.  You  really  must  not  talk,"  and  both 
nurses  went  out  of  sight. 

Then  came  more  hours  of  oblivion,  but  they  were 
hours  of  sleep  and  not  of  stupor.  When  waking  came 
again,  Henderson  sat  by  the  bed,  and  a  stranger  with 
him.  They  were  quick  to  see  that  I  waked.  The 
stranger  spoke,  "You've  had  a  good  sleep,  Mr.  Haynes, 
and  I'm  glad  to  say  you  are  very  much  better." 

"Better?  Sleep?  Have  I  been  ill?  Where 
am  I  ?  " 

"  We  will  tell  you  to-morrow.  But  don't  talk  now. 
Keep  quiet  to-day.  To-morrow  will  find  you  much 
better." 

"  But  where  am  I  ?  Is  this  Duqueboro  ?  Was 
there  a  railway  accident  ?  " 

"  No,  this  is  Grandview,  and  I'm  your  doctor,  and 
this  is  your  friend.  Now,  Mr.  Henderson,  we  will  go. 
You  can  send  your  message."  So  the  two  departed. 

I  tried  to  think  what  had  happened.  But  memory 
would  tell  me  nothing.  Wearied,  I  gave  up  all  effort 
to  think.  By  and  by  a  consciousness  came  that  my 
head  was  wrapped  in  bandages.  I  raised  my  right  hand 


334  THE  MAID  OF  HONOll 

and  felt  the  wrappings  all  about  my  head,  but  the 
movement  gave  me  great  pain  in  my  left  side,  and  as  I 
groaned,  a  nurse  came  quickly  and  said,  "  Oh,  Mr. 
Haynes,  you  must  not  raise  your  arm.  You  will  hurt 
your  side." 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?    Will  no  one  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  doctor  will  tell  you.  You  had  an  acci 
dent.  But  you  must  not  talk." 

So  I  subsided.  I  slept  again  after  a  time,  but  not 
until  I  had  found  that  my  left  forearm  was  done  up 
in  splints  and  bandages.  And  still  memory  told  me  no 
word. 

The  doctor  and  Henderson  came  next  day.  They 
told  me  it  was  Friday,  and  that  my  condition  was 
greatly  improved.  "  Is  my  arm  broken  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Yes,  but  not  badly  ;  that  will  be  healed  very  soon." 

"  Is  my  head  cut  ?  " 

"No,  but  bruised,  and  there  were  severe  contusions 
of  the  brain." 

"  What  makes  my  side  so  sore  ?  " 

"  A  wound  in  the  flesh  above  the  ribs.  It  is  not 
serious." 

"I  cannot  understand,"  I  said  at  last.  "I  don't 
know  where  I  am,  nor  what  has  happened,  nor  why 
Mr.  Henderson  is  here.  What  has  happened  ?  " 

"Don't  you  remember  being  in  Greenton  last 
week  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Henderson. 

"  No." 

"  Don't  you  remember  coming  to  Grandview  ?  " 

"No." 

Henderson  and  the  doctor  slipped  aside,  and  I  heard 
the  doctor  say,  "  Some  sudden  shock  to  that  brain  will 
be  necessary,  or  his  days  of  preaching  are  done.  His 
memory  is  a  blank." 


AX  AWFUL  NIGHT  335 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  was  the  reply.  I  could  not 
hear  the  answer.  Henderson,  however,  left  the  room 
at  once,  and  the  doctor  returned  to  me.  "  Be  quiet  a 
little  longer,"  he  said ;  "  I  think  by  another  day  you 
will  be  so  much  better,  you  will  remember  some 
things."  Then  he  took  leave. 

The  nurse  settled  me  for  sleep  early.  It  must  have 
been  toward  ten  o'clock  that  I  waked  with  a  start  and 
a  scream.  "Help!  help!"  I  shouted.  "They  will 
murder  me!  "  Over  my  bed  stood  Bruce  Fraser  and 
the  three  men  who  had  assaulted  me.  I  thought  I 
was  on  the  ground  in  the  open  lot  by  the  telegraph 
pole.  I  was  struggling  to  jump  from  the  bed,  when  the 
hospital  lights  suddenly  blazed  up,  and  there  were  the 
two  nurses,  and  Henderson,  and  the  doctor,  and  Alice 
Leaven  worth,  and  Bruce  Fraser.  The  three  men  had 
disappeared. 

I  lay  back  utterly  exhausted.  In  a  moment  I  said, 
"  Send  Fraser  away.  He  tried  to  kill  me  a  few 
minutes  ago ;  how  I  came  here,  I  don't  know.  Send 
him  away." 

"  He's  all  right,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I'll  come  back 
presently." 

Then  Bruce  came  up.  "  Mr.  Haynes,"  he  said,  "  I 
have  had  my  lesson.  I  did  try  to  kill  you.  But  God 
saved  me  from  that  sin.  Miss  Leaven  worth  is  here  ; 
Mr.  Henderson  is  here  ;  here,  too,  is  the  paper  I  tried 
to  make  you  sign.  It  is  blood-stained.  But  what  I 
told  you  to  sign,  I  have  signed.  I  shall  never  see  Miss 
Leavenworth  again.  This  paper  is  yours.  I  am  going 
away  now.  I  will  spend  the  night  at  my  father's  ; 
to-morrow  I  shall  start  out  to  seek  a  new  place  in  life, 
and  if  possible  I  will  yet  achieve  something  worth 
while." 


XXIX 

AT  MY  ALMA  MATER 

MRS.  ARDMAN  insisted  that  I  should  return 
to  the  home   which  had  already  been  so 
hospitable,  without  seeking  any  other  abid 
ing  place.     "  For  you  know,  Mr.  Haynes,"  she  said, 
"  you  will  bring  that  lovely  girl  here  in  the  fall,  and 
make  a  home  of  your  own.     It's  only  two  months 
now  until  September,  and  the  Major  wants  you  here." 

So  there  I  was.  My  left  arm  was  in  a  sling  and 
would  be  for  two  weeks  yet,  but  I  was  all  right  other 
wise.  Death  had  come  very  near  to  me,  but  a  strong 
constitution  had  been  too  much  for  the  rider  on  the 
pale  horse.  The  feeling  of  young  life  and  vigor  was 
very  strong  in  me  that  night  in  my  room  in  the  Ard- 
man  home. 

The  accumulated  mail  had  interested  me  greatly, 
and  one  letter  had  not  only  brought  a  great  satisfac 
tion,  but  it  had  also  thrown  a  whole  flood  of  light  on 
Henderson's  movements  when  he  had  left  me  in 
Grandview  at  the  close  of  the  Assembly.  The  letter 
in  question  was  from  the  president  of  my  Alma  Mater, 
announcing  the  intention  of  the  corporation  to  confer 
upon  me  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Divinity  at  the 
approaching  commencement.  While  it  did  not  men 
tion  Henderson's  name,  it  did  say  influential  persons 
from  the  General  Assembly  had  presented  the  petition 
asking  for  the  honor.  It  was  easy  to  jump  to  a  con 
clusion. 

336 


AT  MY  ALMA  MATER  337 

The  only  uncertainty  about  being  present  in  person 
to  receive  the  degree  was  the  condition  of  my  arm 
and  the  feeling  of  aversion  to  making  a  display  of  it 
by  trying  to  wear  academic  costume.  But  there  was 
no  harm  in  writing  to  the  president  of  my  hope  to  be 
present,  and  to  Alice  I  poured  out  my  soul  in  a  letter 
full  of  joy.  All  that  could  be  needed  to  fill  my  cup 
of  happiness  on  that  commencement  day  would  be  the 
presence  of  the  maid  of  honor.  But  that  was  impos 
sible,  and  the  thought  vanished  almost  as  suddenly  as 
it  came. 

"  Come  down,  Doctor ;  there's  a  caller  here."  It 
was  Major  Ardman  calling  from  the  hall  below. 
There  I  found  David  Henderson.  "  I  am  no  doctor, 
Major,  even  though  you  and  my  other  elder  there 
have  been  trying  to  capture  the  title  for  me." 

"  Well,  if  you  are  no  doctor,  you  should  be  ;  and  you 
will  be  some  day,  too."  The  Major  was  ignoring  the 
latter  part  of  my  remark  entirely. 

"  You  speak  as  if  by  prophecy,  Major  Ardman, 
and  it  is  no  wonder.  You  and  Mr.  Henderson  man 
aged  that  trip  of  his  after  the  Assembly  with  great 
skill.  You  thought  you  had  your  tracks  all  covered. 
But  this  uncovers  them." 

I  handed  Henderson  the  president's  letter.  He 
took  it,  read  it,  and  with  the  most  delightful  effort  at 
further  blinding  me  said,  "  Man,  man,  what  good  for 
tune.  You  surprise  me,  you  delight  me.  Ye'll  be  a 
doctor,  juist  as  Geordie  said  the  noo.  How  did  ye 
work  it  ?  Who  did  ye  get  to  go  wi'  your  peteetion  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  work  it,"  I  answered.  "  A  friend  of 
mine,  unknown  to  me,  got  another  friend  of  mine, 
also  unknown  to  me,  to  go  with  a  petition  to  Midaston. 
And  that  letter  is  the  result." 


338  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Oh,  man  !  But  ye're  the  great  one  for  the  unex 
pected.  Who  was  the  friend,  noo  ?  " 

"  A  queer  Scotch  elder  who  was  at  the  Assembly," 
I  said. 

"  Oh,  aye,  I  mind  him.  Dae  ye  remember  him, 
Geordie?  A  feckless,  blue-eyed,  pinched-up  weazen- 
faced  Scotchman.  He  was  frae  Greenton,  I  doot. 
Was  it  MacNaughton  ?  He  has  changed  since  he  gave 
up  the  whiskey,  I  doot." 

"  No,  my  friend,  it  was  not  MacNaughton.  It  was 
no  Greenton  man.  It  was  a  Duqueboro  man." 

"  Was  it  you,  Geordie,  an'  ye  never  telt  me  ?  "  said 
Henderson. 

"  No,  it  was  you,  Mr.  Henderson.  Own  up  now  ! 
You  went  a  day  in  advance  of  me  from  Grandview. 
You  went  direct  to  Midaston.  You  came  back  to 
Greenton.  You  did  it.  Own  up  !  Confess!" 

"He's  brought  you  to  bay,  David,"  the  Major 
laughed.  "  Yes,  Doctor,  I  can't  deny  it.  He  did  it." 

"  An'  hae  ye  telt  Alice  yet,  lad  ?  It  wasna  dune 
for  ye,  but  for  the  lassie.  Wad  ye  bring  her  here  a 
bride,  an'  hae  Phyllis  Lorraine  tossin'  her  head  an' 
say  in'  that  that  Henry  the  Eighth  Papist  husband  o' 
hers  had  two  D's  after  his  name,  an'  ye  never  a 
one  ?  " 

When  the  laugh  that  made  had  subsided,  I  said, 
"  Well,  elder,  friend,  comrade,  you  have  made  me 
very  happy  indeed,  and  I  thank  you.  There's  only 
one  thing  necessary  to  fill  my  cup  to  running  over, 
and  that  is  to  have  Alice  at  commencement  to  wit 
ness  the  ceremony.  But  I  can't  ask  her  brother  to  go 
with  her,  and  without  him  'tis  impossible.  Conven 
tionality  is  a  stern  mistress." 

"  Lad,  canna  ye  stir  wi'oot  your   Alice  ?    But   I 


AT  MY  ALMA  MATER  339 

don't  blame  ye.  I'd  be  so  masel'  only  it's  contrary  to 
Scripture." 

"  What's  contrary  to  Scripture  ?  "  I  asked  astonished, 

"  To  have  women  goin'  to  the  colleges." 

"  There's  nothing  about  women  and  colleges  in  the 
Scriptures,  Mr.  Henderson." 

"An'  ye  a  preacher,  an' not  know  that  'Huldah 
dwelt  in  the  college  in  Jerusalem '  ?  But  she  was  a 
prophetess,  an'  your  Alice  is  no  prophetess.  An' 
what  wad  yer  Alice  be  at  the  college  for,  not  bein'  a 
prophetess  ?  " 

"Why,  to  see  the  ceremony,  and  to  learn  how  they 
do  things  at  the  commencements.  It  is  a  fine  sight 
for  one  who  has  never  witnessed  it." 

"  Hoot,  man  !  Wad  ye  hae  her  tryin'  to  learn  aboot 
the  ways  o'  the  college  ?  An'  ye  a  preacher  !  I  say 
again,  doesna  the  Scripture  say,  '  If  they  will  learn 
anything,  let  them  ask  their  husbands  at  hame '  ?  An' 
yer  Alice  hasna  any  husband,  though  she  might  be 
wantin'  one,  I  doot." 

"Well,  it's  outside  the  conventionalities,  anyhow," 
I  said,  and  I  considered  that  final.  But  the  Scotch 
man  answered,  "  Man,  ye're  incorrigible.  I  said 
naething  aboot  conventionalities.  I  said  it  wad  be 
contrary  to  the  Scriptures.  An'  it  wad  be,  I  doot." 


Almost  the  first  thing  I  saw,  when  I  took  my  place 
on  the  commencement  platform  in  the  old  White 
Church  in  Midaston,  was  a  group  in  the  far  gallery  of 
the  packed  house,  that  made  me  stare  in  dumb  won 
der.  There  sat  Mrs.  Henderson,  and  Alice  Leaven- 
worth,  and  the  wizard.  They  saw  me  also,  and  the 
smile  the  girl  sent  across  was  entrancing.  It  made 


340  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

me  forget  how  awkwardly  my  gown  was  hanging 
over  the  arm  in  the  sling.  That  smile  has  never  gone 
out  of  my  life.  When  the  time  came  for  me  to  rise 
and  receive  investiture  with  the  insignia  of  the  doc 
tor's  degree,  some  enthusiastic  member  of  the  old  fra 
ternity  called,  "  Now,  boys,  here's  to  old  Jack  Haynes. 
Let  her  go."  And  the  whole  student  body  roared 
out,  "D-O-C,  Doc.  T-O-R,  tor.  Doctor.  J-A-C-K, 
Jack.  Doctor  Jack.  Rah — Rah— Rah."  The  mar 
shal  thumped  with  his  cane  in  vain.  He  called  at  the 
top  of  his  voice,  "  Gentlemen  of  the  college,  order ! 
silence !  Order,  gentlemen  ! "  It  was  useless.  The 
great  audience  added  its  uproarious  laughter  to  the 
disorder  the  students  had  made,  and  in  the  midst  of  it 
the  recipient  of  the  degree,  decorated  with  the  doc 
tor's  scarlet  band  and  the  cerulean  blue  and  white  of 
the  college,  resumed  his  seat.  But  it  was  only  for 
a  moment.  The  marshal  crossed  the  platform  to 
present  a  splendid  bunch  of  pink  roses,  and  as  the  new 
doctor  rose  to  accept  it,  the  "  Rah — Rah — Rah  "  of 
the  students  rang  out  once  more.  A  card  attached  to 
the  lovely  gift  bore  the  single  word  "  Alice." 
****** 

The  Grandview  papers  gave  an  elaborate  account  of 
the  wedding  in  the  old  First  Church,  on  September 
the  seventh.  The  lady  who  was  the  central  figure 
has  the  record  among  her  treasured  keepsakes.  The 
day  was  as  beautiful  as  ever  came  out  of  the  treasures 
of  time,  and  the  bride  was  the  loveliest  my  eyes  ever 
rested  on,  though  in  a  long  pastoral  life  I  have  been 
at  close  range  with  many  brides.  The  Kir  Jear 
Church  was  well  represented.  David  and  Mrs.  Hen 
derson  were  there ;  Major  and  Mrs.  Ardman ;  and,  of 
course,  Felix  and  Julia. 


AT  MY  ALMA  MATER  341 

As  Alice  and  I  had  acted  as  chief  assistants  at  St. 
David's,  \ve  made  turn-about-fair-play  at  Grandview, 
for  Phyllis  Lorraine  was  matron  of  honor,  and  Harry 
Sinclair  was  best  man,  with  Felix  and  Joe  as  ushers. 
What  began  at  St.  David's  had  come  at  last  to  its  con 
summation  at  Grandview,  and  the  minister  of  the 
Paoli  monument  was  the  officiating  clergyman. 


XXX 

THE  GREENTON  CENTENNIAL 

TWELVE  years  had  passed,  and  Ruth  Wyllis 
Haynes  was  ten  years  old.  It  was  the  year 
of  the  Greenton  Centennial,  and  the  local 
Committee  of  Arrangements  had  invited  their  former 
townsman  and  one-time  pastor  to  be  a  speaker  at  the 
celebration.  So  when  October  came  our  little  family 
set  out  for  the  dear  old  place.  Alice  had  seen  it  only 
once,  when  we  were  on  our  wedding  journey,  and 
Ruth  Wyllis  had  only  heard  of  it  as  the  home  where 
her  father  had  been  a  little  boy.  I  had  not  been 
there  in  twelve  years.  Kipling's  couplet: 

11  Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 
Lest  we  forget,  lest  we  forget," 

should  be  imbedded  in  every  soul.  We  do  forget. 
Our  multitudinous  life  almost  compels  that.  When 
my  old  home  in  Greenton  was  left  behind  to  be  my 
home  no  more  forever,  I  thought  the  place  and  its 
people  would  always  be  uppermost  in  memory,  and 
they  were  for  a  time.  I  knew  when  Jim  Garvey 
returned  from  Salisbury  jail,  and  how  good  Elder 
Harfis  gave  him  work,  and  then  slowly,  almost 
unconsciously,  he  passed  into  memory's  shadow-land. 
In  the  ten  years  that  had  elapsed  since  Ruth  Wyllis 
was  born,  I  had  hardly  thought  of  him.  The  work  at 
Duqueboro  was  intense.  There  were  many  hoboes  in 
Henderson's  city.  The  Kir  Jear  Church  was  the 

342 


THE  GREENTON  CENTENNIAL    343 

most  influential  socially  of  any  in  the  flourishing 
town,  and  Henderson  was  absurdly  ambitious  to  have 
his  pastor  a  leader  in  every  line.  Little  by  little  my 
letters  to  Tim  and  Joe  had  become  separated  by  wider 
and  wider  intervals,  and  for  five  years  my  knowledge  of 
the  happenings  in  Greenton  had  been  of  the  most  casual 
character.  Thoughts  of  this  sort  made  me  regretful 
as  the  distance  between  us  and  our  destination  grew 
hourly  less,  and  Alice  talked  much  of  what  we  might 
expect  to  find.  Ruth  Wyllis  was  especially  inter 
ested,  and  asked  many  questions.  She  had  been 
taught  to  call  Wendell  "  Lrncle  Tim,"  and  her 
curiosity  about  him  was  great.  The  things  of  which 
we  were  sure  were  a  trifle  saddening,  as  we  thought 
of  them.  We  knew  that  Elder  Harfis  had  passed  to 
his  eternal  reward.  Joe  Smith  and  Helen  were  no 
longer  in  the  old  town.  Three  years  before  he  had 
been  called  to  the  strongest  Congregational  church  in 
Boston.  Mrs.  Harfis  was  living  with  Helen  in 
Boston. 

My  anticipations  had  their  mainspring  in  the  fact 
that  Tim  Wendell  and  his  good  wife  were  to  be  our 
hosts.  Tim  was  mayor  of  Greenton  now,  and  men 
called  him  the  Hon.  Timothy  Wendell. 

We  broke  the  journey  by  a  stop  at  Grandview  for  a 
night  in  the  old  home.  The  dear  mother  was  still 
there,  and  sat  with  us  for  a  while,  watching  the  lovely 
scene  under  the  October  moonlit  sky.  She  went  at 
last  to  the  library,  taking  Ruth,  and  leaving  Alice 
and  me  alone  in  the  hammock,  as  in  the  long  ago. 

Kind  nature  had  been  good  to  Alice,  giving  her  the 
grace  of  eternal  youth.  Some  old  friends,  who  called 
later  that  night,  said,  "  Alice,  you  don't  look  one  day 
older  than  on  that  September  day  twelve  years  ago 


344  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

when  you  walked  out  of  the  old  church."  "Why 
should  she  look  older  ?  No  great  sorrow  had  come  to 
her.  Love  had  walked  with  her  wherever  she  went, 
making  friends  of  all  persons  whom  her  life  touched, 
and  the  peace  of  God  that  passeth  all  understanding 
was  in  her  heart. 

We  would  have  staid  longer  in  that  earthly  para 
dise,  had  it  been  possible,  but  our  Mecca  was  beyond. 
Northward  we  set  our  faces,  and  on  a  Friday  evening 
came  to  Greenton.  The  charm  of  reaching  the  old 
city  was  gone,  for  the  wheels  of  the  Concord  coach 
which  carried  me  in  my  college  days  had  rolled  their 
last  roll.  A  railway  from  Greenton  tapped  the  main 
line  northward  from  Troy,  and  a  steam  whistle 
screeched  through  the  hills  in  place  of  the  sound  of 
the  old  stage  horn.  Wendell's  carriage  was  at  the 
train,  and  we  were  driven  rapidly  to  his  fine  residence 
next  my  old  home.  Wendell  had  prospered,  and  my 
heart  rejoiced  as  I  saw  how  time  had  been  good  to 
him.  Our  welcome  was  delightful.  Mrs.  Wendell 
took  Euth  Wyllis  straight  to  her  heart,  her  first 
remark  on  seeing  her  being,  "  That  child  is  very 
beautiful.  She  is  the  image  of  her  mother."  That 
little  refrain  was  sung  by  many  voices  ere  our 
Greenton  visit  ended:  and  I  may  as  well  confess  now 
as  later  that  it  is  possible  for  a  former  pastor  to  find 
when  he  returns  after  long  absence  to  visit  his  old 
parish,  and  brings  his  handsome  daughter  and  still 
more  beautiful  wife  with  him,  that  he  no  longer 
occupies  the  first  place  in  the  notice  of  his  old  people. 

I  knew  that  the  church  had  secured  a  pastor  after 
Joe's  departure,  but  even  his  name  had  gone  from  me 
until  he  called  upon  us  the  morning  after  our  arrival. 
The  moment,  however,  that  I  entered  the  room  where 


THE  GREENTON  CENTENNIAL         345 

he  was  waiting,  I  knew  him,  and  a  flood  of  memories 
poured  over  me.  Out  of  the  past  rose  the  "  Castle 
of  Indolence  "  and  the  bare-footed,  freckled,  sandy- 
haired  boy  that  we  called  "  Hank."  As  he  advanced 
with  outstretched  hand  I  said,  "  Thornton — Eev. 
Henry  Thornton  ?  Why,  I  know  you.  You  are 
Hank,  of  the  '  Castle  of  Indolence '  on  Indian  Lake." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I'm  David  Thornton's  son." 

"  What  started  you  out,  Mr.  Thornton  ?  " 

"  The  Squire  and  you." 

"  Why,  how  ?  "  I  asked  in  some  astonishment.  "  I 
never  talked  with  you  about  leaving  the  forest ;  I 
thought  a  guide's  boys  never  left  the  lakes." 

"  Most  of  them  never  do,"  he  replied.  "  But  don't 
you  know  how  you  and  the  Squire  used  to  bring  paper- 
covered  books  to  the  cabin  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember  that." 

"  Well,  you  left  a  lot  of  them,  one  time  and  another. 
I  read  them,  and  came  to  understand  after  a  while, 
that  the  world  was  bigger  than  Indian  Lake,  that  there 
were  loftier  mountains  than  Old  Snowy,  and  fairer, 
larger  rivers  than  Jessup's,  and  more  things  to  know 
than  how  to  trap  muskrat  and  otter,  and  shoot  deer, 
and  angle  for  trout,  and  I  began  to  want  to  know,  just 
to  know  something  about  this  world.  One  day  my 
father  came  upon  me  reading.  He  stopped,  looked  at 
me  a  minute,  and  then  called  out,  '  Hank,  ain't  you 
readin'  a  good  deal  ? '  <  Ain't  got  much  to  read,'  I 
answered.  *  Ain't  you  readin'  a  good  deal,  Hank  ? ' 
'  Ain't  neglectin'  nothin',  be  I  ? '  I  said.  He  walked 
slowly  back  toward  me  and  said,  '  No,  d'no's  you  be. 
But  sho !  fellers  ain't  no  good  for  guides,  that  reads.' 
'  Got  more  deer  than  you  did,  last  hunt,  dad,'  I  said. 
'  Oh,  'tain't  spiled  ye  yet,  but  'twill.  Ye  kin  make 


346  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

preachers  an'  doctors  an'  lawyers  out  o'  book  larnin', 
but  ye  can't  make  guides.'  '  Wai,  I  don't  b'leeve  I  kin 
quit,  dad,'  I  said.  '  Don't  b'leeve  ye  kin,  nuther,'  he 
answered.  'More'n  that,  don't  b'leeve  I  want  ye  to, 
nuther.'  I  was  sitting  on  that  big  rock  down  by  the 
shore;  you  remember  it,  Mr.  Haynes.  Well,  my 
father  came  and  sat  down  and  went  on  with  his  talk. 
*  Hank,  I  allers  wanted  ye  to  go  to  school,  but  I 
couldn't  make  it.  But  you've  got  hold  o'  books,  an' 
ye  won't  be  no  good  no  more.  If  ye  want  to  go  to 
Wes'port  this  winter  to  school,  go  on.  I  can't  help  ye 
any,  but  ye  kin  get  jobs  an'  arn  yer  own  way.' 
That's  the  way  I  came  to  go  out  of  the  woods,  Dr. 
Haynes,"  he  ended.  "  Summers,  I  guided.  Nine 
months  of  the  year,  I  studied.  I  earned  my  own  way 
all  through.  I  had  no  money  to  spend  on  follies,  but 
I  had  enough.  You  and  I  have  the  same  Alma  Mater. 
I  went  to  Union  Seminary.  When  Dr.  Smith  went  to 
Boston,  the  Squire  brought  me  over  here,  and  here  I 
am,  your  host,  Dr.  Haynes,  and  proud  I  am  to  have 
you  in  my  pulpit,  proud  to  have  for  mine  the  pulpit 
which  once  was  yours." 

That  night  a  banquet  was  to  be  given  to  the  mayor 
and  the  visiting  guests,  including  the  Governor  of  the 
State,  by  the  Greenton  Bummers'  Club.  When  Tim 
told  me  of  that,  I  said,  "  Tim,  you  don't  mean  to  tell 
me  that  the  club  has  survived  Joe  Smith's  departure 
from  Greenton  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  was  his  response.  "  The  departure  of  two 
Joes  couldn't  break  up  that  club.  That  institution 
has  made  this  town  the  sweetest,  cleanest  town  in  this 
country.  We've  been  a  prohibition  community  under 
local  option  now  for  ten  years.  That  club  has 
done  it." 


THE  GREENTON  CENTENNIAL         347 

"  But  what  do  they  do  ?  "  was  my  eager  question. 

"  Follow  their  leader  and  his  lieutenant.  There 
hasn't  been  a  man  in  the  lockup  for  drunkenness  in  six 
years.  If  a  man  is  ever  seen  on  the  streets  drunk,  one 
of  the  club  has  him  down  to  Bob's  in  short  order. 
They  give  him  a  hot  bath,  and  a  shower,  and  a  rub, 
and  put  him  to  bed.  When  he  wakes,  he  gets  a  good 
square  meal  and  has  an  interview  with  Bob  or  Jim 
before  he  can  get  away.  They  seldom  have  the  same 
fellow  twice." 

"  So  Jimmie  MacNaughton  holds  right  on,  does  he  ?  " 

"  No,  Doctor.  Jimmie  don't  hold  on.  Jimmie  let 
go  four  years  ago." 

"  Well,  that's  sad,  Tim.  I  thought  he  would  stay 
sober  and  true  until  he  died." 

"  Well,  who  said  he  didn't  ?  " 

"  Why,  you,  just  now.  You  said  he  went  to  drink 
ing  again,  four  years  ago." 

"  See  here,  Doctor !  you  used  to  be  smarter  than 
that.  I  never  said  he  went  to  drinking.  I  said  he  let 
go.  So  he  did — let  go  the  club ;  let  go  life ;  let  go 
earth ;  let  go  hard  times ;  and  took  tight  hold  of 
glory.  Jimmie  started  on  the  up-grade  almost  the 
first  day  of  the  great  revival,  and  he  kept  right  on 
going  up  for  twelve  years.  He's  on  the  top  of  the 
grade  now." 

"  Yes,  I  understand.  But  see  here,  Tim.  Let  the 
4  Doctor '  go.  Call  me  '  Jack,'  can't  you  ?  No  one 
does,  any  more.  Joe's  gone,  and  Harry  Sinclair's 
become  professor  in  the  Divinity  School  in  Phila 
delphia,  and  I'm  '  Jack '  to  no  one  now  but  Alice." 

Tim  laughed.  "Well,"  he  replied,  "as  your  Mr. 
Henderson  would  say,  '  ye're  juist  as  near  daft  as  ye 
ever  were,  I  doot.'  " 


3±8  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

That  Saturday  night,  Joe  came.  I  was  to  preach  in 
the  morning  and  he  at  night,  in  the  old  church.  Joe 
was  guest  of  other  friends,  so  that  I  did  not  see  him 
until  we  met  at  the  banquet,  at  which  function  we  were 
received  by  the  president,  Mr.  Robert  Hazeltine,  and, 
wonder  of  wonders,  by  the  vice-president,  Mr.  James 
Garvey.  To  say  that  astonishment  made  me  dumb,  is 
to  put  it  mildly.  A  poor  wretch,  struggling  against 
gin  and  tobacco,  down  on  the  floor  of  a  cell  in  the 
county  jail,  saying,  "  Jesus  Christ,  I  don't  want  you 
to  fergit,"  had  gotten  out  from  "  the  under  side  of 
things,"  and  was  away  up  on  the  upper  side,  evidently 
destined  to  be  there  till  death.  He  stood  before  me, 
erect,  broad-shouldered,  clear-faced,  keen-eyed,  well- 
dressed.  The  hand  that  grasped  mine  was  strong. 
And  this  was  the  "  Jim "  of  whom  Wendell  had 
spoken,  who,  with  Bob,  was  making  Greenton  a  city 
of  righteousness. 

"Mr.  Haynes,"  he  said,  "I  can't  call  you  'Doctor' 
— I  do  not  receive  you  to-night  quite  as  I  did  the  last 
time  you  saw  me.  I  was  in  Salisbury  jail  then — but 
I'll  never  be  there  again,  thank  God  and  thank  you." 

"Jim,  this  all  seems  strange  to  me — I  can't  realize 
it.  You've  been  a  far  stronger  man  than  I  supposed 
you  would  be.  You've  won  a  wonderful  victory  over 
yourself,  and  I'll  always  think  of  you  as  a  hero  of  self- 
conquest." 

"No,"  said  he,  "you're  wrong.  Remember,  when 
I  asked  you  what  had  happened  to  Jimmie  Mac- 
Naughton  and  Bob,  that  they'd  stopped  drinking,  you 
said, '  Jesus  Christ  had  happened  to  'em '  ?  Well,  that's 
how  it  was  with  me.  I  did  nothing — I  couldn't. 
Jesus  Christ  happened  to  me.  He's  done  it  all." 

The  banquet  was  a  memorable  occasion.     Bob  knew 


THE  GEEENTON  CENTENNIAL    349 

ho\y  to  set  a  good  table,  and  the  spread  was  fine.  But 
the  best  of  it  came  after  dinner,  when  Joe  Smith  and 
the  Governor,  who  both  excelled  in  after-dinner  speak 
ing,  caused  abundant  laughter  and  a  rare  good  time. 
Finally  Bob  rose,  saying  : 

"The  last  speech  will  be  by  Mr.  James  Garvey, 
commonly  known  as  Jim." 

Jim  rose. 

"Mr.  President,"  he  began,  "I'm  no  speaker. 
Thirteen  years  ago,  if  you  had  asked  me  in  this  club 
to  speak,  I'd  have  said,  '  I  ain't  up  to  her,  Bob,  I  ain't 
up  to  her  ! ' : 

Starting  so,  he  went  on  to  tell  what  I  already  knew, 
—of  the  wretchedness  of  his  life  until  he  landed  in 
Salisbury  jail. 

"  The  day  I  got  out,"  he  went  on,  "  Jimmie  Mac- 
Naughton  was  at  the  door.  He  brought  me  down 
home,  and  took  me  to  Dr.  Smith's,  who  lived  in  Mr. 
Haynes'  old  home.  Mr.  President,  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Smith  gave  me  just  such  a  meal  that  night  as  Mr. 
Haynes  had,  and  put  me  to  bed  in  the  same  room  I'd 
been  in  before.  That  fixed  me  for  good  and  all. 

"  Next  day,  Mr.  Harfis  took  me  into  his  employ,  and 
the  only  thing  he  said  was,  '  Garvey,  you're  going  to 
be  a  man,  and  I  want  a  little  part  in  the  job.'  I 
worked  there  three  years.  Then  one  day,  Mr.  Harfis 
said,  '  "What  do  you  do  with  your  money,  Mr.  Gar 
vey?'  No  man  had  ever  called  me  Mr.  Garvey 
before.  I  said  I'd  saved  a  little,  about  five  hundred 
dollars.  He  asked  me  if  he  might  have  it  to  in  vest  for 
me,  and  I  agreed.  Then  he  doubled  my  wages. 

"  Well,"  continued  Jim,  "  he  took  my  savings  every 
month,  and  when  he  died  his  books  showed  that  out 
of  what  he  had  invested  for  me  he  had  made  ten 


350  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

thousand  dollars,  and  had  it  in  five  per  cent,  bonds. 
That  sounds  big,  but  it's  true.  Then  Bob  came  to 
me" — he  had  forgotten  to  address  the  president,  in 
his  earnestness — "  and  said,  '  Garvey,  Jimmie  Mac- 
JSTaughton's  sick,  and  he's  not  going  to  get  well.  I 
want  some  one  to  help  me  run  the  club,  and  we'll  pay 
you  five  hundred  dollars,  with  your  board.'  So  here  I 
am. 

"  I've  studied  a  good  deal,  these  last  five  years.  I've 
committed  speeches  to  memory,  so  as  to  learn  how  to 
talk  as  I  ought.  But  I  don't  deserve  any  credit. 
Everything  is  due  to  the  men  who  helped.  Mr. 
Haynes  once  told  me  there  was  a  man  in  me  some 
where,  and  he  was  going  to  try  to  let  him  out.  I 
think  he  has — and  the  rest  of  you  have  kept  him  out. 
Sometimes  there  are  steep  places  and  it's  hard  to  go, 
but  I'm  going  yet. 

"Now,  all  I  have  to  say  is  this.  All  that  has 
happened  to  me  has  come  out  of  Christ's  wonderful 
grace, — but  Mr.  Haynes  is  the  man  who  put  me  in  the 
way  of  receiving  that  grace ;  so  I'm  going  to  close  by 
saying  what  I  said  to  him  that  night,  thirteen  years 
ago,  at  the  door  of  the  best  room  in  his  house,  when 
he  caught  me  with  his  mother's  jewelry  in  my  hand, 
'  Say,  preacher,  you're  the  best  man  I  ever  seen.' 

"  Mr.  Haynes,"  he  ended,  coming  over  to  me, 
"  there's  your  five  hundred  dollars  bail  money,  and 
interest  at  six  per  cent  for  fifteen  years."  He  handed 
me  a  draft  for  nine  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  As 
he  laid  it  on  the  table  before  me,  Joe  Smith  leaped  to 
his  feet,  crying,  "  Bummers !  three  cheers  for  Jim 
Garvey  !  hip,  hip  " — and  the  hurrahs  that  followed 
almost  took  off  the  roof  of  Bob's  old  tavern.  When 
quiet  came,  the  Governor  of  the  State  rose. 


THE  GREEXTOX  CENTENNIAL         351 

"  Mr.  Garvey,"  said  he,  "you  were  a  convict  in  Sing 
Sing?" 

"  Yes,  your  Honor." 

"  Have  you  ever  received  papers  of  pardon  ?  " 

"  Xo,  your  Honor." 

"  Very  well.  Your  pardon  and  restoration  to 
citizenship  will  be  forwarded  as  soon  as  I  return  to 
Albany."  And  once  more  Joe  led  in  cheers. 

I  told  Alice  the  story  of  the  evening  when  we  were 
alone  together,  and  she  said,  "  Jack  dear,  to  have  had  a 
part  in  saving  the  soul  of  such  a  man  is  worth  while." 
And  it  was.  He  had  traveled  a  great  distance  from 
the  degradation  in  which  he  was  twelve  years  before, 
to  the  heights  of  honor  on  which  he  was  standing  now. 
From  silver  cup  stolen  to  bail  bond  paid  was  the 
length  of  the  diameter  of  the  moral  universe. 

The  events  of  the  Centennial  went  one  by  one  as 
they  had  been  programmed,  but  for  me  the  climax  was 
the  banquet  of  the  Bummers'  Club. 

Alice  and  Ruth  and  I  were  at  home  again  ere  long, 
but  often  for  weeks  Alice  would  say  to  me,  "  What  a 
Saviour  our  Saviour  is,  Jack.  He  has  saved  Joe  and 
Bob  and  Tim  and  that  awful  Garvey." 


XXXI 

HENDERSON'S  LAST  DAYS 

TWELVE  years  of  intense  activity  had  left 
their  marks  upon  the  lives  of  those  whose  for 
tunes  have  been  unfolded  in  my  story.  They 
could  be  seen  most  plainly  upon  Major  Ardman.  He 
was  past  eighty  now,  and  though  he  made  no  com 
plaint,  his  days  were  labor  and  sorrow.  The  fact  did 
not  seem  to  disturb  the  Major,  but  it  was  a  cause  of 
much  solicitude  to  David  Henderson.  When  the 
Major  began  to  be  absent  from  church  occasionally  on 
Sunday  morning,  David  said  : 

"  The  Major  is  comin'  to  his  last  days.  He'll  be 
goin'  awa'  soon,  I  doot.  That  will  be  the  ringin'  o'  a 
warnin'  bell  for  me,  man.  That  will  mean  Hender 
son's  last  days  are  comin'.  I  ken  it  weel." 

It  was  my  duty  to  pass  these  forebodings  on  to  a 
distant  day  with  such  grace  as  was  in  me.  For  a  time 
it  was  not  very  hard ;  but  when  failing  strength  had 
put  an  end  to  the  Major's  daily  visit  at  the  eventide 
to  Henderson's  library,  my  task  was  more  difficult. 
The  end  came  suddenly  at  last,  as  it  is  wont  to  do. 
Sunday  before  Christmas,  none  of  the  Ardmans  and 
none  of  the  Hendersons  were  in  church,  and  I  was  not 
surprised  when,  at  the  end  of  the  morning  service,  a 
note  was  handed  me  by  an  usher,  announcing  that  the 
Major  had  gone  home. 

Of  course  the  shock  was  great  to  us  all.  This  was 
the  first  break  in  the  session  of  the  Kir  Jear  Church 

352 


HENDERSON'S  LAST  DAYS  353 

during  my  pastorate.  The  first  words  David  Hender 
son  said  to  me  were  : 

"  Disintegration  of  the  session  has  begun,  I  doot. 
I'll  be  goin'  next,  laddie."  That  was  all  the  allusion 
he  made  to  the  event,  until  affairs  in  my  own  family 
reached  a  point  that  caused  him  to  speak  in  the  same 
strain  again. 

The  twelve  years  had  made  changes  in  the  people 
who  dwelt  in  the  manse.  No  single  expression  will 
show  what  was  the  nature  of  these  changes  more 
clearly  than  this.  Almost  every  night,  while  Alice  sat 
with  me  in  the  library,  Ruth  Wyllis  was  spending  her 
evening  in  the  parlor  with  David  Henderson  Ardman. 
They  had  been  children  together.  But  David  had 
never  seemed  to  care  much  for  the  girls,  until  Ruth 
Wyllis  came  home  from  college  just  a  year  before. 
Then  he,  and  Kir  Jear  Church  in  general,  waked  to  the 
fact  that  the  girl  was  beautiful. 

There  was  no  better  young  man  in  Duqueboro  than 
this  grandson  of  Major  Ardman.  He  was  a  law- 
student  in  his  Grandfather  Henderson's  office,  and 
bade  fair  to  be  an  honor  to  his  antecedents. 

As  for  Alice  and  me,  we  were  both  growing  old.  I 
was  fifty-four,  and  my  hair  as  white  as  it  will  ever 
be.  But  Alice  and  her  daughter  were  taken  for 
sisters,  often  and  often,  by  strangers  and  casual 
acquaintances. 

Such  was  the  condition  of  affairs  at  the  manse, 
when  one  night  in  the  February  that  followed  the 
Major's  death,  Henderson  came  in  and  seating  himself 
before  the  open  fire  in  my  library,  remained  for  a  long 
time  without  saying  a  single  word.  I  knew  him  too 
well  to  disturb  his  meditation.  When  finally  he  spoke, 
he  said : 


354:  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Man  !  Doctor !  that  grandson  o'  mine  is  gey  fond 
o'  your  daughter,  I  doot." 

"That's  not  so  very  strange,"  I  answered,  "con 
sidering  who  her  mother  is." 

"  Ye're  right,  Doctor.  I'm  only  sorry  I  hadna  been 
young,  so  she  might  have  had  a  husband  equal  to  her. 
But  it's  the  lad,  no  the  mither,  I'm  thinkin'  aboot." 

"  Well — what  you  said  made  me  think  of  the  girl, 
and  the  girl  made  me  think  of  her  mother.  People 
say  she's  the  image  of  her  mother." 

"  Man !  Doctor !  ye  never  was  gratefu'  enough  to 
me,  for  marryin'  ye  to  yon  girl — ye  didna  appreeciate 
me." 

"  Why,  my  good  elder,"  and  I  laughed,  as  I  always 
must  at  Henderson,  "  I  had  a  lurking  thought  that  I 
won  her  myself." 

"  Lurkin'  thought,  lad  !  Why,  I  threw  ye  bodily  at 
the  girl,  an'  she  took  ye  oot  o'  peety."  As  Henderson 
aged,  his  Scotch  dialect  was  becoming  more  marked. 

I  knew  my  man,  so  I  made  no  reply.  Presently  he 
started  on  another  tack. 

"  Yon's  a  good  lad,  yon  Da  vie." 

"  He  couldn't  very  well  be  other  than  good,  with 
such  a  grandfather."  I  answered. 

"  Man,  man,  you  mustna  ca'  me  guid  like  that  an' 
leave  the  Major  oot.  The  Major  was  a  good  man, 
an'  I  was  his  friend,  an'  I  can't  hae  him  put  at 
disadvantage  by  leavin'  him  oot." 

Once  more  I  waited  for  him  to  say  what  was  in  his 
mind.  As  I  expected,  he  continued  about  the  boy. 

"He'll  make  a  fine  lawyer,  yon  boy.  He'll  hae 
plenty  o'  siller.  He'll  be  wantin'  to  marry  your 
daughter,  I  doot." 

"  Well,"  I  answered,  "  that  won't  displease  me  any 


HENDERSON'S  LAST  DAYS  355 

— but  I'm  not  so  sure  about  the  girl.  You  know,  her 
mother  sent  his  father  hunting  in  other  fields." 

"Aye,  I  ken.  But  Felix  wasn't  Da  vie;  and  Ruth, 
your  lass,  isn't  her  mither — oh,  no,  no  !  " 

"Well,"  I  said  thoughtfully,  "Mr.  Henderson,  if 
Ruth  Wyllis  doesn't  object,  her  mother  and  I  won't." 

"  Man !  Doctor !  dinna  ca'  me  Mr.  Henderson.  Ca' 
me  David.  No  one  ca's  me  David,  noo  the  Major's 
gone,  an'  I  miss  him.  So  I  want  ye  to  ca'  me  by  the 
Major's  name.  Ca'  me  David." 

"  Well,  David,  I  will." 

"  But,  man !  Doctor !  aboot  the  marryin'.  It  would 
be  a  richt  fine  way  to  have  them  married  before  I  dee, 
I  doot." 

"Now,  David,"  I  answered,  "you  talk  too  much 
about  dying,  lately.  It's  not  healthful.  We  all  die. 
The  Major  went  when  God's  time  came.  Your  time 
will  come,  and  mine.  But  we  mustn't  be  troubled 
over  that." 

"  But,  man,  canna  ye  see  ?  I  want  them  married 
before  I  dee.  An'  if  they're  no,  we  canna  leave 
them  here  alane,  when  we  gae  to  the  Canyon  in  the 
spring,  you  an'  Alice  an'  Felix  an'  Julia  and  Mrs.  Hen 
derson  an'  me." 

So  that  was  what  all  this  long  beating  about  the 
bush  had  meant.  I  was  quick  to  answer.  "  It  may 
be  that  the  trip  to  the  Canyon  can  be  arranged,  but 
that  those  two  young  people  should  be  married  is  out 
of  the  question.  Neither  the  girl  nor  the  mother 
would  consent  to  that.  Besides,  they  are  not  even 
engaged  yet." 

"  Ah,  but,  man,  they  will  be  :  they  will  be.  An'  if 
we  canna  gae  to  the  Canyon  till  they  be  married,  they 
must  be  married  before  we  gae ;  an'  I  must  go  in  May, 


356  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

I  doot,  for  I  shall  gae  on  ma  lang,  lone  journey  before 
anither  May.  Dinna  shake  yer  held,  man,  Doctor. 
I  ken  :  I  ken  it  weel."  With  that  he  left  me. 

The  night  before  we  started  on  the  Western  trip, 
when  the  packing  was  all  finished,  and  the  trunks 
were  gone  to  the  station  for  the  early  morning  train, 
the  doors  between  the  parlor  and  library  were  sud 
denly  thrown  back,  and  there  stood  Ruth  Wyllis  and 
David  Ardman,  hand  in  hand.  Alice  and  I  were  in. 
our  usual  places,  on  opposite  sides  of  the  table.  I  saw 
her  turn  very  pale ;  my  own  heart  jumped  wildly  for 
a  moment.  We  both  knew  what  was  coming.  The 
reason  for  it  was  plain  enough.  Alice  had  steadily 
declined  to  start  on  the  long  journey,  leaving  Ruth 
Wyllis  behind.  Young  David  had  no  intention  of 
having  the  width  of  the  continent  between  him  and 
the  girl  he  loved,  with  the  chance  of  her  seeing  other 
men  whom  she  might  fancy  more  than  she  fancied 
him,  unless  he  himself  had  made  sure  of  her,  if  he 
could,  before  she  went. 

So  there  they  stood — and  how  handsome  they  were  ! 
Young  David  was  as  direct  as  his  grandfather  was 
indirect. 

"  Mrs.  Haynes,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  firm,  "  Dr. 
Haynes — I  have  told  Ruth  Wyllis  I  love  her  and 
have  asked  her  to  be  my  wife ;  the  answer  she  has 
made  is,  that  she  can  do,  will  do  nothing,  without  your 
consent.  She  has  not  even  told  me  she  loves  me,  but 
I  think  I  know.  May  I  have  your  daughter  for  my 
wife?" 

Alice  rose  and  walked  across  to  Ruth  with  a  quick 
step.  Emotion  was  sweeping  in  waves  over  her 
face: 

"  Baby  dear,  you  have  been  my  love  and  joy  for 


HENDERSON'S  LAST  DAYS  357 

twenty-two  years.  I  have  seen  that  this  must  come, 
but  I  was  not  quite  ready  for  it.  Are  you  ready, 
dear?  Do  you  love  Mr.  Ardman  ?" 

"Yes,  mother,"  was  her  low  reply. 

Turning  to  me,  Alice  said,  "  Jack,  we  can  do  this, 
can't  we  ?  "  What  could  be  said  to  that  but  "  yes  "  ? 
But  though  my  lips  said  "  yes,"  my  eyes  were  full  of 
tears. 

Alice  turned  back  to  David  Ardman.  She  put  her 
arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed  him,  then,  looking  at 
Ruth  "Wyllis,  said,  "  Now  you  can  give  him  your 
answer,  dearie."  Ruth  lifted  her  face  to  the  strong 
young  man,  and  said  with  burning  cheeks,  "  Do  you 
need  an  answer,  laddie  ?  "  And  with  that  they  two 
slipped  back  into  the  parlor  and  closed  the  door. 
David  Henderson  Ardman  had  come  between  Ruth 
Wyllis  and  her  mother,  even  as  John  Haynes  had  come 
between  Alice  Leaven  worth  and  her  mother,  twenty- 
five  years  before. 

**#*## 

Ten  days  later,  I  stood  with  Alice  on  a  projecting 
point  of  the  wall  of  the  southern  rim  of  the  Grand 
Canyon  of  the  Colorado.  We  saw  the  sun  sink  west 
ward  to  lose  itself  behind  the  sands  and  summits  of 
the  Mojave  Desert,  and  yet  we  made  no  move  to  go. 
We  had  wandered  away  from  the  rest  of  the  company, 
taking  the  path  close  to  the  edge  of  the  mighty  preci 
pices.  We  had  been  away  thus  since  just  after  noon 
day,  finding  with  each  new  point  of  view  new  wonders 
of  light  and  color  and  far  perspective.  We  had 
reached  this  projecting  promontory  just  before  the 
sunset,  and  stood  there  oblivious  to  all  on  earth  save 
the  glories  of  the  vast  gorge.  Far  away  across  the 
colossal  chasm,  the  north  wall  of  the  Canyon  lifted 


358  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

itself  against  the  sky,  and  made  a  horizon  line  of  pur 
ple  and  emerald  and  ruby,  gleaming  and  flashing,  as 
the  westering  sun  moved  farther  and  farther  down 
toward  night.  To  the  east  and  west,  whichever  way 
we  turned  our  entranced  gaze,  were  piled  in  masses 
bewildering  in  the  wonder  of  their  beauty,  buttes  and 
domes  and  pinnacles  and  towers,  bastions  and  turrets 
and  amphitheatres,  all  tinted  as  if  gigantic  genii  with 
brush  and  color  had  touched  them  but  yesterday. 
Far  off  in  the  southeast  rose  the  twin  peaks  of  the 
San  Francisco  mountains,  shining  like  burnished  silver 
as  the  sunlight  was  reflected  from  their  crowns  of 
snow.  A  sheer  mile  below,  like  a  winding  thread 
flowed  the  great  river,  pressing  with  impatient  force 
out  through  these  rocky  confines  toward  the  ocean. 

How  long  we  might  have  stood  there  unvexed  by 
thought  of  time  or  place,  I  do  not  know.  We  were  on 
the  rim  of  the  world,  and  night  might  have  overtaken 
us  still  watching  there,  unheeding  all  but  God,  but  for 
the  sound  of  wheels  and  a  familiar  voice  : 

"  Daft !  clean  daft,  I  doot.  I  always  kenned  one 
was,  but  I  didna  suppose  the  other  was,  ever." 

As  Alice  and  I  turned,  there  was  the  carriage  in 
which  Henderson  and  Ruth  Wyllis  were  seeking  us. 

Supper  was  late.  The  belated  evening  train  had 
just  arrived.  The  dining-room  was  crowded,  but  at 
the  table  next  ours  sat  four  people,  the  sight  of  whom 
almost  made  me  shout.  They  were  Joe  Smith  and 
Helen,  with  Mr.  Harris  and  a  lad}*-  whom  I  rightly 
judged  to  be  his  wife.  There  was  immediate  inter 
change  of  salutations  and  presentations,  after  which 
Henderson  lapsed  into  an  unusual  silence.  Through 
the  whole  supper  he  made  no  slightest  allusion  to  the 
newcomers.  But  no  sooner  was  the  meal  finished 


HENDERSON'S  LAST  DAYS  359 

than  he  approached  my  cousin,  and,  gravely  shaking 
hands  with  him  again,  said  : 

"  Ye  hae  a  preacher  in  tow,  an'  I  hae  anither.  Ye're 
tired  o'  yours,  I  doot.  They're  a  great  responsibility." 

"Oh,  no,"  was  the  answer.  "  I'm  not  tired  of  my 
preacher.  I  don't  think  you  are  of  yours.  But  we've 
changed  since  we  parted  years  ago." 

"  So  I  would  be  thinkin'.  Ye're  growin'  old.  But 
ye're  no  too  old  to  travel  wi'  me  for  the  trip  we're 
takin'.  It  will  rest  ye  frae  too  much  preacher,  I  doot." 

Harris  laughed  as  he  replied,  "  I've  not  had  too 
much  preacher,  if  you  mean  Dr.  Smith.  He's  a  rare 
companion.  I  am  surprised  if  you  have  had  too  much 
of  your  preacher,  for  I  traveled  with  him  for  six 
months,  and  did  not  weary  of  him  in  the  least." 

"  Oh,  aye,  ye  might  travel  wi'  him  sax  months  and 
not  be  weary.  I've  been  listenin'  to  him  for  twenty- 
five  years,  an'  I'm  no  weary.  There's  many  a  waur 
companion  and  many  a  waur  preacher,  if  ye  only  kent 
where  to  look  for  'em.  But,  man,  ye  must  travel  wi' 
us.  I  wad  finish  the  conversation." 

"  "What  conversation,  Mr.  Henderson  ?  " 

"  What  one  would  it  be  but  that  aboot  releegion, 
which  we  hadna  time  for  on  the  ither  journey.  Ye 
remember  ye  didna  ken  what  releegion  was." 

With  another  hearty  laugh,  Harris  turned  to  me. 
"  You  know  I  told  you  Mr.  Henderson  would  talk 
of  nothing,  that  time  we  met  on  shipboard,  except 
religion.  And  now  he  says  we  had  not  time  for  it." 

"An'  we  didna,  man — we  didna.  D'  ye  mind 
how  I  was  holdin'  that  releegion  was  the  soul  o'  man 
seekin'  to  achieve  the  life  o'  God  in  this  world  ?  An' 
ye  mind  ye  wouldna  accept  that  defineetion  ?  Ye'll 
travel  wi'  our  party  an'  finish  the  discussion,  I  doot." 


360  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  I  remember  well  that  I  did  not  agree  with  your 
definition,  but  my  memory  as  to  what  it  was  is  not  so 
good  as  yours.  I  would  have  said  you  claimed  that 
religion  was  believing  what  the  catechism " 

"  Hoot,  man,  how  could  I  be  sayin'  sic  a  thing  as 
that,  if  I  didna  believe  it  ?  An'  how  would  I  be  re- 
mernberin'  a  defineetion  if  I  didna  give  it  ?  At  what 
are  ye  laughin',  Doctor  ? "  turning  sharply  on  me. 
"  It's  no  manners  to  laugh  sic  a  way  at  Mr.  Harris. 
I'm  no  laughin'  at  him.  D'  ye  mind  what  the 
Buik  says  aboot  the  cracklin'  o'  thorns  under  a 
pot?" 

Of  course  I  had  recognized  my  own  definition  given 
on  that  ride  to  Jersey  City  so  long  ago,  and  I  remem 
bered  how  Tim  Wendell  had  prophesied  that  I  would 
live  to  hear  Henderson  quote  it  as  his  own.  I  at  once 
understood  my  Scotchman's  purpose,  though  Mr. 
Harris  had  not  the  least  idea  that  he  was  being  used 
for  a  bit  of  by-play  with  me.  Henderson  would 
almost  as  soon  have  lost  his  tongue  as  confess  to  me 
directly  that  he  had  adopted  my  definition,  and  the 
little  ruse  by  which  he  managed  to  give  me  this  infor 
mation  was  intensely  amusing.  So  I  continued  to 
laugh  in  spite  of  his  rebuke. 

"  Ah,  man,"  he  cried  reproachfully,  "  ye're  incor 
rigible  wi'  your  laughter.  What  will  the  man  think 
o'  ye  ?  Are  ye  gone  daft  ?  " 

"No,  no,  David,"  I  answered.  "I'm  only  delighted 
to  hear  you  corner  the  Congregationalist.  But  why 
didn't  you  get  this  settled  in  correspondence  long  ago  ?  " 

"Man,  d'  ye  think  that  arguments  sic  as  I  would 
mak'  can  be  put  into  friendly  epeestles  ?  An'  we  had 
better  things  to  write  aboot  than  sic  rideeculous 
matters  as  catechism  releegion." 


HENDERSON'S  LAST  DAYS  301 

"My  friend,'1  said  Harris  now  with  great  gravity, 
"  if  I  ever  said  what  you  attribute  to  me,  I  renounce  it 
all.  I  accept  your  definition.  I  never  heard  it  before, 
but  it's  good,  and  I'll  write  it  in  ray  note-book." 

Henderson  finished  the  incident. 

"  You,  a  man  o'  intelligence,  never  heerd  it  before ! 
Why,  man,  I've  been  hearin'  it  for  twenty-five  years. 
Ye  ought  to  come  to  Duqueboro  an'  be  a  Presbyterian. 
The  Doctor  there  an'  I  have  been  knowin'  aboot  yon 
defineetion  for  twenty -five  years.  But  I'm  glad,  I'm 
more  glad  than  I  can  tell  ye  that  ye've  consented  to 
travel  wi'  us  for  the  journey." 

Then  Joe  Smith  went  out  into  the  outer  office  of 
the  hotel,  and  laughed  as  if  he  would  collapse. 


When  we  reached  home,  the  weeks  until  September 
the  seventh  were  very  full  of  anticipation  at  the  manse. 
Henderson's  delight  knew  no  bounds.  But  though  he 
came  to  see  me  every  day,  we  saw  that  the  good  man's 
last  days  were  coming  on.  He  had  given  up  his  pro 
fessional  life  before  going  across  the  continent ;  and 
when  he  was  settled  back  into  the  old  haunts,  the 
strain  of  the  non-occupation  was  breaking  the  tough 
Scotch  constitution.  Then,  too,  he  missed  his  own  boy, 
David,  Jr.,  who  had  married  and  gone  to  Texas  a  few 
years  before,  to  take  charge  of  his  interests  there.  He 
had  promised  to  come  up  for  the  wedding  festivities, 
and  a  new  fear  took  Henderson  now,  that  he  might 
not  live  to  see  his  son. 

"Man,  Doctor,"  he  would  say,  "d'  ye  think  I'll 
dee  before  the  day  ?  "  Often  he  asked  that.  And  my 
answer  always  was  : 

"  Die,   David  ?    and    you   to   have   such   a  grand- 


362  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

daughter  as  Ruth  Wyllis  ?    No,  you'll  not  die  for  a 

long  time,  we  hope " 

"  No,  ye  dinna  :  Jack,  ye  dinna.     Ye  know  I  shall 


dee  ere  long,  I  doot " 

But  the  day  caine — the  anniversary  of  Alice's 
wedding-day  and  mine,  and  it  was  to  be  the  wedding- 
day  of  Ruth  and  David  Ardman.  The  marriage 
ceremony  was  in  the  church,  and  the  reception  was 
given  by  Mrs.  Henderson.  No  happier  man  was  ever 
seen  than  David  Henderson  that  night.  He  forgot  all 
his  forebodings,  and  was  as  he  was  in  the  days  of  his 
power. 

But  what  of  Alice  on  that  wedding-night  ?  Back 
to  the  manse,  alone  in  our  room,  she  threw  her  arms 
around  my  neck,  crying,  "  Jack !  we  are  just  as  we 
were  twenty-five  years  ago.  Our  baby  has  gone. 
We're  all  alone  now  :  now  and  for  aye.  We  shall  not 
have  twenty-five  years  more.  The  years  we  have  had 
are  beyond  compare.  I  never  thought  a  man  could 

make  a  woman  as  happy  as  I  have  been." 

****** 

On  the  morning  after  the  wedding,  David  came  to 
the  study.  His  face  was  radiant.  "Man,  Doctor," 
he  began,  "  I  can  dee  happy  noo.  They  are  married, 
thae  young  things,  an'  the  twa  are  handsomer  than 
you  an'  Alice,  I  doot.  Man,  the  girl's  not  as  beauti 
ful  as  her  mother;  but  the  laddie Losh  !  he's  far 

an'  awa'  beyond  ye.  He  luiks  like  me,  I  doot." 

"  Yes,"  I  laughed,  "  if  having  eyes  and  nose  and 
mouth  makes  one  look  like  another." 

"  Hoot,  man  !  Doctor !  Don't  joke  wi'  a  deein' 
man — I'm  goin'  the  journey  now  they're  married." 

"  Not  yet,  David,"  I  replied,  "  not  yet."  I  spoke 
as  cheerily  as  I  could,  for  always,  when  he  talked 


HENDERSON'S  LAST  DAYS  363 

in  such  strain,  he  was  moved  by  emotions  which  waked 
the  overtone  in  my  own  soul. 

"  Yes,  soon  now,  John "  He  had  never  called 

me  "  John  "  before,  and  the  new  note  moved  me  still 
more  deeply.  He  continued  talking. 

"I  said  'John,'  ye  mind.  That  is  because  ye're 
my  son  now.  Ruth  is  your  daughter,  isna  she  ?  An' 
noo  that  she's  married  to  Davie,  she's  my  gran- 
daughter,  an'  the  father  of  a  grand-daughter  must  be 
the  son  o'  the  grandfather." 

"  Well,  '  father,'  "  I  said,  "  I  have  made  progress 
indeed.  First  you  were  my  acquaintance,  and  then 
my  elder,  and  then  my  friend  David,  and  now  my 
father.  What  will  come  next  ?  " 

"  Oh,  brither  will  come  next.  When  I've  made  the 
journey,  an'  ye've  made  the  journey,  an'  we  will  be 
standin'  thegither  haudin'  the  ban's  o'  the  great 
Elder  Brither  in  the  Kingdom.  Won't  that  be  graun, 
John?" 

David  only  lived  four  weeks  more.  He  was  up  and 
down  from  his  house  to  mine,  but  there  came  a  day 
when  he  did  not  come,  but  sent  word  that  he  wished 
to  see  me.  As  soon  as  he  saw  me,  he  began : 

"  I  have  been  thinkin'  aboot  yon  Garvey  man,  your 
thief  man.  I  telt  ye  that  ye'd  no  ca'  to  be  a  philan 
thropist.  He  went  to  the  bad,  I  doot.  I  was  right,  as 
usual." 

I  was  astonished  a  little  at  this,  for  I  had  long 
since  told  him  about  Garvey 's  wonderful  transforma 
tion.  But  I  said  no  word  in  reply  to  make  him  know 
that  he  had  forgotten,  if  indeed  he  had. 

"  No,"  I  replied.  "  He  came  out  of  jail  twenty-five 
years  ago.  He  became  a  most  worthy  citizen.  The 
Governor  of  the  State  gave  him  full  restoration  to 


364  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

citizenship   twelve  years  ago.     He  is  the  mayor  of 
Greenton  now." 

David  was  deeply  interested.  "  This  is  a  graun 
country,  John.  What  opportunities  it  gives  men ! 
Think  what  it  did  for  me,  the  poor  Scotch  lad.  But 
the  grace  o'  God  is  greater  than  the  country.  That 
Garvey  man  is  a  trophy  o'  the  grace  o'  God." 

The  bridal  pair  returned  next  day,  going  to  David's 
for  the  first  stopping  place,  as  that  was  his  wish. 
Every  day  of  the  week  that  followed,  I  visited  him. 

Sitting  in  a  chair  in  his  library,  he  received  me. 
There  was  a  day  presently  when  he  was  very  feeble, 
and  after  that  he  never  rose.  He  said  about  the 
middle  of  that  week,  one  morning,  "  John,  I'm  startin' 
on  the  journey,  I  doot.  I  shall  never  return.  I 
am  goin'  to  find  the  city  which  hath  foundations.  D' 
ye  ken  ?  There's  a  river  flows  through  the  midst  o' 
it.  It  will  be  sae  beautiful  I  shallna  be  wantin'  to 
return.  D'  ye  ken  ?  " 

"  Are  you  ready  to  make  the  journey,  father  ? "  I 
asked  him. 

"  Aye,  John — a'  ready.  There'll  be  a  river  there  : 
a  beautiful  river.  D'  ye  ken  ?  " 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "In  the  midst  of  the  city  it 
flows." 

"  There's  no  high  bluff  above  it,  John,  like  yon 
Greenton  stream.  D'  ye  mind  the  Greenton  stream, 
John  ?  That  was  a  great  fish  :  that  first  one.  I 
never  took  one  like  that  before.  There'll  be  none 
like  that  i'  the  city,  I  doot."  I  saw  his  mind  was 
wandering.  Presently  he  said : 

"  I  was  a'  wrang,  John.  'Tisna  belief  in  the  cate 
chism  that  releegion  is.  Releegion  is  the  soul  o'  man 


HENDERSON'S  LAST  DAYS  365 

seekin'  the  life  o'  God.  I've  been  thinkin'  o'  that  for 
twenty-eight  years.  Ye  were  right,  John ;  who  telt  ye 
that?" 

I  answered,  "  No  one,  father,  unless  it  was  God. 
That  came  to  me  while  I  talked  with  you  that  day  in 
the  train." 

"  Man,  John,  ye're  right  again.  God  gave  ye  that. 
He  gave  ye  that  for  me.  I  was  thinkin'  believin'  was 
suffeecient,  an'  livin'  as  I  pleased.  Ye  broke  me  o' 
that.  For  thirty  years,  a'most,  I  have  been  seekin' 
the  life  o'  God — an'  I've  found  it.  I'm  comin'  up  wi' 
it.  See  where  it  is — the  life  o'  God — Jack — pastor — 
good,  faithful  friend — I've  found  it.  The  life  o'  God 
is  mine.  Ye  showed  me  the  way,  an*  it's  mine  for 
ever  an'  forever." 

"Father,"  I  began,  about  to  thank  him  for  his 
lovely  tribute  to  my  poor  service  to  him ; 
"  father  —  -  "  but  there  I  stopped.  I  looked  at  him 
with  my  heart  in  my  eyes,  and  my  sentence  was  never 
finished.  For  he  was  not  there.  He  had  started  on 
his  journey. 


XXXII 

HENDERSON'S  WILL 

THE  body  of  David  Henderson  was  laid  to  rest 
in  Duqueboro  Glen  Cemetery.  A  granite 
block  marks  the  spot.  The  County  Bar 
Association  paid  a  great  tribute  to  his  ability,  integ 
rity,  and  civic  honor.  About  the  hardest  moment  of 
my  professional  life  was  when  the  last  words  of  the 
solemn  rite  were  spoken  at  the  side  of  the  open  grave. 
Alice  and  I  spent  the  evening  with  Mrs.  Henderson 
and  her  family.  The  house  seemed  singularly  lonely, 
though  there  were  nine  of  us  together.  "Losh,  man  ! " 
and  "  Hoot,  hoot !  "  had  been  heard  in  that  house  for 
the  last  time.  Judge  Elgin,  the  Clerk  of  the  Orphans' 
Court,  called  during  the  evening,  and  said,  "  Mr.  Hen 
derson  left  a  paper  in  my  possession,  to  be  read  on  the 
day  after  his  funeral,  to  the  very  persons  who  happen 
to  be  present  here  now.  I  will  fulfill  the  request 
tomorrow  whenever  you  may  say."  Mrs.  Henderson 
appointed  ten  o'clock  next  morning.  "When  that  hour 
arrived,  we  all  were  assembled.  Judge  Elgin  read  as 
follows : 

"  In  the  name  of  God  :  Amen.  Many  men  think 
they  must  make  a  will  before  they  die.  Having  had 
their  wives'  wills  all  their  lives,  they  think  they  will 
have  their  own  when  they  are  dead.  A  dead  man's 
will  is  of  no  account  to  him  after  he's  dead,  I  doubt. 
Therefore,  being  of  sound  mind  and  disposing  memory 
before  my  death,  I  have  expressed  my  mind  in  accord- 

366 


HENDERSON'S  WILL  36  T 

ance  with  my  memory,  also  before  my  death.  But  I 
have  not  made  known  to  any  person  what  my  mind 
is.  That  will  be  discovered  when  the  person  herein 
appointed  has  opened  the  safe  in  my  private  room  in 
my  own  house.  William  Elgin,  the  Clerk  of  the 
Orphans'  Court  of  Algonquin  County,  is  that  person. 
It  is  my  will  while  living  that  he  shall  open  my  safe 
when  I  am  dead.  He  will  do  it  in  the  presence  of  my 
family  and  my  pastor  and  his  wife. 

"  It  is  furthermore  my  will  while  alive,  that  when  I 
am  dead,  my  beloved  wife  shall  take  the  contents  of 
the  safe,  and  give  them  to  the  persons  to  whom  they 
are  addressed.  It  is  also  my  wish  that  the  persons 
receiving  the  contents  of  my  safe  shall  take  them 
away  and  open  them  in  private,  and  that  no  one  of 
these  persons  shall  make  known  to  the  other,  nor  to 
any  one  on  earth,  what  are  the  contents  of  these  pack 
ages,  for  the  period  of  five  years  after  they  have  been 
received.  By  that  time  I  will  be  forgotten,  and  no 
one  will  care  what  I  did  with  my  property,  I  doubt. 
For,  in  my  opinion,  the  whole  matter  is  nobody's  busi 
ness  but  my  own.  This  is  my  last  will  and  testa 
ment,  a  will  that  will  cause  no  trouble  to  anybody, 
and  dispense  with  all  legal  services,  and  avoids  the 
exasperation  which  attends  the  ordinary  will.  If  any 
one  asks  of  what  property  David  Henderson  died 
possessed,  be  sure  to  answer,  of  not  a  hap'orth.  He 
was  supposed  to  have  some  when  he  lived ;  but  when 
he  died,  not  a  penny  that  was  his  could  be  found. 
This  is  my  last  will  and  testament. 

"  DAVID  HENDERSON." 

We  stood  and  looked  at  each  other  in  silence  for  a 
moment  or  two,  Then  the  Judge  said,  "  That  is  very 


368  THE  MAID  OF  HOXOR 

characteristic  of  David,"  and  Mrs.  Henderson  smiled 
as  she  answered,  "  Yes,  Mr.  Henderson  never  did  any 
thing  as  anyone  else  would." 

Then  the  Judge  went  to  the  private  office  and 
opened  the  safe.  He  had  evidently  been  prepared  for 
this,  for  he  knew  the  combination  of  the  lock.  When 
the  door  was  thrown  back,  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but 
six  parcels  tied  with  red  law  tape.  There  was  not  a 
book  or  paper  of  any  sort  at  all.  The  Judge  said, 
"  Mrs.  Henderson,  by  the  terms  of  the  will,  you  must 
take  the  packages  from  the  safe."  She  did  so.  They 
were  addressed  to  William  Elgin,  Mrs.  Mary  Hender 
son,  Mrs.  Julia  Ardman,  David  Henderson,  Jr.,  David 
Henderson  Ardman,  and  Rev.  John  Haynes,  D.  D. 
One  by  one,  Mrs.  Henderson  handed  them  to  us. 
When  the  Judge  received  his,  he  said,  "  I  have  no 
knowledge  of  the  contents  of  any  of  the  packages.  I 
have  performed  the  duties  devolved  upon  me  by  my 
friend's  singular  paper.  It  undoubtedly  relates  to 
what  was  his  property.  I  surmise,  however,  that  it 
will  be  found  he  has  left  no  property  of  any  sort  in  his 
own  name."  With  that,  Judge  Elgin  made  his  adieus 
and  departed. 

The  situation  was  a  very  strange  one.  We  stood 
there  holding  what  no  doubt  represented  David  Hen 
derson's  great  property.  But  no  one  of  us  knew  how 
much  it  was,  or  what  each  had  received.  David,  Jr., 
was  the  first  to  speak.  He  said,  "  We  can  do  nothing 
but  respect  my  father's  request.  But  I  think  we 
should  make  ourselves  sure  that  we  will  respect  it. 
Let  us  all  agree  each  with  each,  and  each  with  all,  that 
we  will  respect  it.  Shall  we  shake  hands  on  that  ?  " 
To  that  we  all  agreed,  and  made  solemn  covenant  with 
clasped  hands  to  tell  to  no  one,  nor  to  each  other,  for 


HENDERSON'S  WILL  369 

five  years,  what  the  various  packages  contained.  And 
then  we  separated.  The  Duqueboro  Clarion  said  next 
day,  with  the  usual  spectacular  display  : 

THE  DEAD  MILLIONAIRE,  DAVID  HENDERSON, 

LEAVES  NOTHING  TO  CHARITY,  AND 
NOTHING  TO  THE  BOARDS  OF  His  CHURCH. 

The  article  that  followed  was  sensational,  caustic, 
and  untrue. 

#***** 

More  than  five  years  have  passed  since  that  promise 
was  made  in  David  Henderson's  private  office.  My 
lips  are  therefore  unsealed.  Exactly  five  years  from 
the  time  of  that  promise  Mrs.  Henderson  received  the 
following  note: 

New  York,  — 
"  Mrs.  Mary  Henderson, 

"  Duqueboro,  Pa. 
"  DEAR  MADAM  : 

"  As  instructed  by  your  late  husband,  David 
Henderson,  I  write  to-day  to  say  that  prior  to  his 
death  he  put  into  my  hands,  as  Treasurer  of  the  Board 
of  Home  Missions,  five  hundred  thousand  dollars,  to  be 
divided  in  ways  he  specified,  among  the  eight  Boards 
of  the  Presbyterian  Church  in  the  United  States  of 
America.  This  is  to  inform  you  that  the  division  was 
made  as  directed,  and  receipts  from  the  several 
Treasurers  are  hereby  sent  you.  By  Mr.  Henderson's 
request,  no  one  knew  from  whom  this  money  was 
received  but  me.  The  sums  were  not  all  paid  at  one 
time,  but  payment  was  scattered  along  over  thirty 
months,  as  specified  by  Mr.  Henderson. 

"  Yours  very  sincerely, 

" —/Treasurer." 

This  was  the  first  that  anyone  had  ever  known  of 


3TO  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

the  man's  great  gift  to  the  Church  he  loved.  The 
gifts  to  his  own  family  are  their  own  matter,  and  have 
never  been  made  public.  When  my  own  parcel  was 
opened,  there  Avas  disclosed  to  view  the  old  Bible  which 
was  the  foundation-stone  of  my  acquaintance  with 
this  singular  man.  With  it  was  a  note  that  read  as 
follows : 

"  DEAR  JOHN  : 

"  I  want  you  to  have  the  old  Book.  It  made  us 
acquainted,  and  its  mission  is  not  yet  ended.  I  want 
you  to  open  it  every  day  at  about  two  o'clock.  That 
is  the  hour  when  we  first  met.  Keep  it  locked  in  a 
safe  at  all  other  times.  The  places  at  which  to  open 
it  are  the  following " 

Then  followed  a  list  of  two  hundred  and  fifty 
passages.  The  letter  went  on  : 

"  This  old  Book,  by  my  instructions  to  you,  was 
strength  for  your  work  in  the  past.  Out  of  it  you 
learned  that  '  religion  is  the  soul  of  man  seeking  the 
life  of  God,'  a  thing  you  might  never  have  said  but  for 
my  influence  on  you.  Now,  if  you  will  diligently 
follow  my  directions  about  the  marked  places  in  the 
Book,  you  will,  I  doubt,  add  some  comfort  to  your  old 
age. 

"I  have  never  paid  you  the  twenty-five  hundred 
dollars  I  borrowed  of  you,  but  as  your  daughter  is 
married  to  my  grandson,  perhaps  that  will  make  no 
great  difference. 

"My  last  request  to  you  is  that  you  resign  the 
pastorate  of  Kir  Jear  Church.  You  are  fifty-four 
past ;  sixty  is  not  far  away.  The  young  people  are 
growing  restless,  even  now,  for  a  younger  man.  You 
are  master  yet.  Stay  so.  The  only  way  to  stay  so  is 
to  get  out,  I  doubt.  Solomon  said  many  things  about 


HENDERSON'S  WILL  371 

'a  time.'  '  A  time  to  do  this,  and  a  time  to  do  that.' 
He  ought  to  have  said  also,  '  There  is  a  time  for  a 
preacher  to  quit.'  Jack,  your  time  has  come.  Kesign 
before  nine  months  pass.  Go  to  Grandview  ;  buy  the 
old  place  and  the  one  each  side  ;  buy  all  the  lots 
from  Morningside  Terrace  clear  to  the  street  parallel 
with  the  Terrace.  Build  my  girl,  the  girl  I  wooed  and 
won  for  ye,  a  new,  cozy  home.  Go  there,  live  and 
be  happy.  This  is  for  you  my  last  will  and  testament. 

"DAVID  HENDERSON." 

"  P.  S. — Do  not  unwrap  the  Bible  until  the  day 
after  you  read  this,  at  two  o'clock,  then  every  day 
thereafter. 

"D.  H." 


Alice  and  I  laughed  over  that  letter,  and  she  cried 
a  little.  The  plan  was  beautiful,  but  impracticable. 
To  save,  in  Duqueboro,  while  pastor  of  Kir  Jear 
Church,  at  four  thousand  dollars  salary,  enough  money 
to  live  on  without  work,  was  impossible,  and  to  talk 
about  buying  and  building  was  absurd.  But  the 
dream  was  beautiful. 

Next  day  at  two  o'clock,  we  unwrapped  the  Book. 
It  was  an  old  worn,  Bible,  and  seemed  much  thicker  as 
I  held  it  in  my  hand  than  it  had  ever  seemed  before. 
To  turn  to  the  passage  for  the  first  day  was  the  work 
of  a  moment.  There  lay  a  crisp  one  thousand  dollar 
bank-note.  A  slip  was  pinned  to  it  in  David's  hand. 
"  Don't  be  frightened.  This  is  part  of  your  twenty- 
five  hundred,  I  doubt." 

Alice  looked  at  me  in  blank  amazement.  "  Did  ever 
such  a  queer  man  as  that  live  in  this  world  before  ?  " 
she  said. 

Next  day  we  had  the  same  experience.    Henderson's 


372  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

note  read  this  time,  "  This  is  more  of  your  twenty- 
five  hundred,  I  doubt." 

Again  we  faced  each  other,  a  very  astonished  pair. 
The  third  day  revealed  the  third  one  thousand  dollar 
bill,  but  the  note  pinned  to  it  read: 

"  You  have  had  your  interest  regularly  for  twenty- 
eight  years.  This  pays  the  rest  of  your  twenty-five 
hundred.  The  extra  five  hundred  are  profits  on  the 
investment  made  for  you,  and  held  in  trust  by  me. 

"  D.  H." 

And  now  we  both  comprehended  the  scheme  of  the 
strange  Scotchman.  For  two  hundred  and  fifty  days, 
\ve  found  each  day  a  one  thousand  dollar  note.  We 
had  promised  not  to  tell  anyone  for  five  years. 
There  was  no  will,  no  executor,  no  legacy  tax,  no 
fees.  There  was  the  money,  locked  every  night  in 
our  safe,  which  was  bought  before  a  week  went  by. 
There  were  no  more  written  notes  after  the  third  one 
until  the  last.  Then  we  found  this  : 


"  DEAE  JACK  : 

"  This  is  not  a  gift,  nor  charity.  Mr.  Lorraine 
and  I  bought  a  large  tract  of  land  near  Galveston,  or 
in  that  region.  It  proved  to  be  very  productive  oil  land. 
The  land  bought  with  your  twenty-five  hundred  dollars 
was  rich  in  oil.  I  sold  it  for  the  money  which  you 
have  now  received.  Not  a  penny  is  dishonest.  Your 
money  earned  it  all.  But  you  could  never  have  done 
it,  I  doubt.  You  don't  know  enough.  Now  resign. 
Go  to  Grandview,  and  do  as  I  told  you. 

"  DAVID  HENDERSON." 


Alice  threw  her  arms  around  my  neck,  and  said, 


HENDERSON'S  WILL  373 

"  Will  you,  Jack  ?     Oh,  will  you  ?  "     And  I  answered, 
"  Yes,  Alice,  I  will." 


7T 


That  was  ten  years  ago.  As  I  write,  Alice  sits 
beyond  the  table,  sewing.  It  happens  that  this  is 
Christmas  night.  We  are  in  our  library,  which  opens 
on  the  veranda  overlooking  the  river  and  mountains, 
and  the  moon  is  almost  full.  We  have  had  a  lovely 
Christmas  day.  Euth  and  David  Ardman,  with  their 
two  boys,  have  been  with  us.  The  boys  are  in  bed, 
and  Ruth  is  singing  to  David,  in  the  parlor.  They 
are  almost  as  devoted  lovers  as  their  parents.  I  am 
conscious  that  "  age  with  his  stealing  steps  will  claw 
me  in  his  clutch  "  ere  many  years.  My  hair  is  about  as 
white  as  the  snow  outside.  But  when  I  look  across  the 
table  at  Alice,  I  see  in  her  hair  the  same  color  as  of 
the  blossom  of  the  smoke-tree  by  my  father's  door. 
The  same  unruffled  look  is  on  her  face  that 
was  there  thirty-five  years  ago.  She  is  older,  but 
strangers  often  call  her  and  Ruth  sisters ;  and 
people  still  look  at  her  as  she  passes  on  Fifth  Avenue, 
as  I  did  once. 

"  Alice  ! "  She  raises  her  head,  and  our  eyes  meet. 
There  is  no  flash  as  of  cold  steel  at  the  bottom  of 
those  eyes  now. 

"  What,  Jack  ?  "  she  asks. 

"Do  you  remember  that  day  before  Schaus's 
window,  almost  forty  years  ago  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Jack,  I  remember.     But  why,  dear  ?  " 

"  You  almost  broke  my  heart  that  day,  Alice.  For 
I  loved  you  madly  ;  and  though  I  had  no  reason,  hope 
had  been  buoyant  until  then,  that  we  might  meet 
some  day,  somewhere,  and  then  — 


374  THE  MAID  OF  HONOR 

"  Then  what,  Jack  ?  " 

"  Then  perhaps  I  might  be  able  to  make  you  love 
me  a  little.  But  the  hope  died  there  on  Fifth 
Avenue." 

"  It  need  not  have  died,  my  boy,  for  I  loved  you 
then  as  much  as  you  loved  me." 

"  You  have  told  me  that  before.     But  was  it  true  ?" 

"  Yes,  Jack,  true.  It  began  at  old  St.  David's,  and 
it  will  never  end." 


THE  END 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


LOANS 

JUN  1  5  1990 


NOV  1 1  1991 


A     00068067 


3  197000741  0837 


